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Title: Uncle Remus
Author: Joel Chandler Harris
Release Date: August, 2000 [EBook #2306]
[This file of edition 11 was first posted on June 16, 2003]
Edition: 11
Language: English
Character set encoding: US-ASCII
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, UNCLE REMUS ***
Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings
By Joel Chandler Harris
PREFACE AND DEDICATION
TO THE NEW EDITION
To Arthur Barbette Frost:
DEAR FROST:
I am expected to supply a preface for this new edition of my
first book--to advance from behind the curtain, as it were, and
make a fresh bow to the public that has dealt with Uncle Remus in
so gentle and generous a fashion. For this event the lights are
to be rekindled, and I am expected to respond in some formal way
to an encore that marks the fifteenth anniversary of the book.
There have been other editions--how many I do not remember--but
this is to be an entirely new one, except as to the matter: new
type, new pictures, and new binding.
But, as frequently happens on such occasions, I am at a loss for
a word. I seem to see before me the smiling faces of thousands of
children--some young and fresh, and some wearing the friendly
marks of age, but all children at heart--and not an unfriendly
face among them. And out of the confusion, and while I am trying
hard to speak the right word, I seem to hear a voice lifted above
the rest, saying "You have made some of us happy." And so I feel
my heart fluttering and my lips trembling, and I have to how
silently and him away, and hurry back into the obscurity that
fits me best.
Phantoms! Children of dreams! True, my dear Frost; but if you
could see the thousands of letters that have come to me from far
and near, and all fresh from the hearts and hands of children,
and from men and women who have not forgotten how to be children,
you would not wonder at the dream. And such a dream can do no
harm. Insubstantial though it may be, I would not at this hour
exchange it for all the fame won by my mightier brethren of the
pen--whom I most humbly salute.
Measured by the material developments that have compressed
years of experience into the space of a day, thus increasing the
possibilities of life, if not its beauty, fifteen years
constitute the old age of a book. Such a survival might almost be
said to be due to a tiny sluice of green sap under the gray bark.
where it lies in the matter of this book, or what its source if,
indeed, it be really there--is more of a mystery to my middle age
than it was to my prime.
But it would be no mystery at all if this new edition were to be
more popular than the old one. Do you know why? Because you
have taken it under your hand and made it yours. Because you have
breathed the breath of life into these amiable brethren of wood
and field. Because, by a stroke here and a touch there, you have
conveyed into their quaint antics the illumination of your own
inimitable humor, which is as true to our sun and soil as it is
to the spirit and essence of the matter set forth.
The book was mine, but now you have made it yours, both sap and
pith. Take it, therefore, my dear Frost, and believe me,
faithfully yours,
Joel Chandler Harris
INTRODUCTION
I am advised by my publishers that this book is to be included in
their catalogue of humorous publications, and this friendly
warning gives me an opportunity to say that however humorous it
may be in effect, its intention is perfectly serious; and, even
if it were otherwise, it seems to me that a volume written wholly
in dialect must have its solemn, not to say melancholy, features.
With respect to the Folk-Lore scenes, my purpose has been to
preserve the legends themselves in their original simplicity, and
to wed them permanently to the quaint dialect--if, indeed, it can
be called a dialect--through the medium of which they have become
a part of the domestic history of every Southern family; and I
have endeavored to give to the whole a genuine flavor of the old
plantation.
Each legend has its variants, but in every instance I have
retained that particular version which seemed to me to be the
most characteristic, and have given it without embellishment and
without exaggeration.
The dialect, it will be observed, is wholly different from that
of the Hon. Pompey Smash and his literary descendants, and
different also from the intolerable misrepresentations of the
minstrel stage, but it is at least phonetically genuine.
Nevertheless, if the language of Uncle Remus fails to give vivid
hints of the really poetic imagination of the negro; if it fails
to embody the quaint and homely humor which was his most
prominent characteristic; if it does not suggest a certain
picturesque sensitiveness--a curious exaltation of mind and
temperament not to be defined by words--then I have reproduced
the form of the dialect merely, and not the essence, and my
attempt may be accounted a failure. At any rate, I trust I have
been successful in presenting what must be, at least to a large
portion of American readers, a new and by no means unattractive
phase of negro character--a phase which may be considered a
curiously sympathetic supplement to Mrs. Stowe's wonderful
defense of slavery as it existed in the South. Mrs. Stowe, let me
hasten to say, attacked the possibilities of slavery with all the
eloquence of genius; but the same genius painted the portrait of
the Southern slave-owner, and defended him.
A number of the plantation legends originally appeared in the
columns of a daily newspaper--The Atlanta Constitution and in
that shape they attracted the attention of various gentlemen who
were kind enough to suggest that they would prove to be valuable
contributions to myth-literature. It is but fair to say that
ethnological considerations formed no part of the undertaking
which has resulted in the publication of this volume. Professor
J. W. Powell, of the Smithsonian Institution, who is engaged in
an investigation of the mythology of the North American Indians,
informs me that some of Uncle Remus's stories appear in a number
of different languages, and in various modified forms, among the
Indians; and he is of the opinion that they are borrowed by the
negroes from the red-men. But this, to say the least, is
extremely doubtful, since another investigator (Mr. Herbert H.
Smith, author of Brazil and the Amazons) has met with some of
these stories among tribes of South American Indians, and one in
particular he has traced to India, and as far east as Siam. Mr.
Smith has been kind enough to send me the proof-sheets of his
chapter on The Myths and Folk-Lore of the Amazonian Indians, in
which he reproduces some of the stories which he gathered while
exploring the Amazons.
In the first of his series, a tortoise falls from a tree upon the
head of a jaguar and kills him; in one of Uncle Remus's stories,
the terrapin falls from a shelf in Miss Meadows's house and stuns
the fox, so that the latter fails to catch the rabbit. In the
next, a jaguar catches a tortoise by the hind-leg as he is
disappearing in his hole; but the tortoise convinces him he is
holding a root, and so escapes; Uncle Remus tells how the fox
endeavored to drown the terrapin, but turned him loose because
the terrapin declared his tail to be only a stump-root. Mr. Smith
also gives the story of how the tortoise outran the deer, which
is identical as to incident with Uncle Remus's story of how Brer
Tarrypin outran Brer Rabbit. Then there is the story of how the
tortoise pretended that he was stronger than the tapir. He tells
the latter he can drag him into the sea, but the tapir retorts
that he will pull the tortoise into the forest and kill him
besides. The tortoise thereupon gets a vine-stem, ties one end
around the body of the tapir, and goes to the sea, where he ties
the other end to the tail of a whale. He then goes into the wood,
midway between them both, and gives the vine a shake as a signal
for the pulling to begin. The struggle between the whale and
tapir goes on until each thinks the tortoise is the strongest of
animals. Compare this with the story of the terrapin's contest
with the bear, in which Miss Meadows's bed-cord is used instead
of a vine-stem. One of the most characteristic of Uncle Remus's
stories is that in which the rabbit proves to Miss Meadows and
the girls that the fox is his riding-horse. This is almost
identical with a story quoted by Mr. Smith, where the jaguar is
about to marry the deer's daughter. The cotia--a species of
rodent--is also in love with her, and he tells the deer that he
can make a riding-horse of the jaguar.
"Well," says the deer, "if you can make the jaguar carry you, you
shall have my daughter." Thereupon the story proceeds pretty
much as Uncle Remus tells it of the fox and rabbit. The cotia
finally jumps from the jaguar and takes refuge in a hole, where
an owl is set to watch him, but he flings sand in the owl's eyes
and escapes. In another story given by Mr. Smith, the cotia is
very thirsty, and, seeing a man coming with a jar on his head,
lies down in the road in front of him, and repeats this until the
man puts down his jar to go back after all the dead cotias he has
seen. This is almost identical with Uncle Remus's story of how
the rabbit robbed the fox of his game. In a story from Upper
Egypt, a fox lies down in the road in front of a man who is
carrying fowls to market, and finally succeeds in securing them.
This similarity extends to almost every story quoted by Mr.
Smith, and some are so nearly identical as to point unmistakably
to a common origin; but when and where? when did the negro or the
North American Indian ever come in contact with the tribes of
South America? Upon this point the author of Brazil and the
Amazons, who is engaged in making a critical and comparative
study of these myth-stories, writes:
"I am not prepared to form a theory about these stories. There
can be no doubt that some of them, found among the negroes and
the Indians, had a common origin. The most natural solution would
be to suppose that they originated in Africa, and were carried to
South America by the negro slaves. They are certainly found among
the Red Negroes; but, unfortunately for the African theory, it is
equally certain that they are told by savage Indians of the
Amazons Valley, away up on the Tapajos, Red Negro, and Tapura.
These Indians hardly ever see a negro, and their languages are
very distinct from the broken Portuguese spoken by the slaves.
The form of the stories, as recounted in the Tupi and Mundurucu'
languages, seems to show that they were originally formed in
those languages or have long been adopted in them.
"It is interesting to find a story from Upper Egypt (that of the
fox who pretended to be dead) identical with an Amazonian story,
and strongly resembling one found by you among the negroes.
Vambagen, the Brazilian historian (now Visconde de Rio Branco),
tried to prove a relationship between the ancient Egyptians, or
other Turanian stock, and the Tupi Indians. His theory rested on
rather a slender basis, yet it must be confessed that he had one
or two strong points. Do the resemblances between old and New
World stories point to a similar conclusion? It would be hard to
say with the material that we now have.
"One thing is certain. The animal stories told by the negroes in
our Southern States and in Brazil were brought by them from
Africa. Whether they originated there, or with the Arabs, or
Egyptians, or with yet more ancient nations, must still be an
open question. Whether the Indians got them from the negroes or
from some earlier source is equally uncertain. We have seen
enough to know that a very interesting line of investigation has
been opened."
Professor Hartt, in his Amazonian Tortoise Myths, quotes a story
from the Riverside Magazine of November, 1868, which will be
recognized as a variant of one given by Uncle Remus. I venture to
append it here, with some necessary verbal and phonetic
alterations, in order to give the reader an idea of the
difference between the dialect of the cotton plantations, as used
by Uncle Remus, and the lingo in vogue on the rice plantations
and Sea Islands of the South Atlantic States:
"One time B'er Deer an' B'er Cooter (Terrapin) was courtin', and
de lady did bin lub B'er Deer mo' so dan B'er Cooter. She did bin
lub B'er Cooter, but she lub B'er Deer de morest. So de young
lady say to B'er Deer and B'er Cooter bofe dat dey mus' hab a
ten-mile race, an de one dat beats, she will go marry him.
"So B'er Cooter say to B'er Deer: 'You has got mo longer legs dan
I has, but I will run you. You run ten mile on land, and I will
run ten mile on de water!'
"So B'er Cooter went an' git nine er his fam'ly, an' put one at
ebery mile-pos', and he hisse'f, what was to run wid B'er Deer,
he was right in front of de young lady's do', in de broom-grass.
"Dat mornin' at nine o'clock, B'er Deer he did met B'er Cooter at
de fus mile-pos', wey dey was to start fum. So he call: 'Well,
B'er Cooter, is you ready? Co long!' As he git on to de nex'
mile-pos', he say: 'B'er Cooter!' B'er Cooter say: 'Hullo!' B'er
Deer say: 'You dere?' B'er Cooter say: 'Yes, B'er Deer, I dere
too.'
"Nex' mile-pos' he jump, B'er Deer say: 'Hullo, B'er Cooter!'
B'er Cooter say: 'Hullo, B'er Deer! you dere too?' B'er Deer say:
'Ki! it look like you gwine fer tie me; it look like we gwine fer
de gal tie!'
"W'en he git to de nine-mile pos' he tought he git dere fus,
'cause he mek two jump; so he holler: 'B'er Cooter!' B'er Cooter
answer: 'You dere too?' B'er Deer say: 'It look like you gwine
tie me.' B'er Cooter say: 'Go long, B'er Deer. I git dere in due
season time,' which he does, and wins de race."
The story of the Rabbit and the Fox, as told by the Southern
negroes, is artistically dramatic in this: it progresses in an
orderly way from a beginning to a well-defined conclusion, and is
full of striking episodes that suggest the culmination. It seems
to me to be to a certain extent allegorical, albeit such an
interpretation may be unreasonable. At least it is a fable
thoroughly characteristic of the negro; and it needs no
scientific investigation to show why he selects as his hero the
weakest and most harmless of all animals, and brings him out
victorious in contests with the bear, the wolf, and the fox. It
is not virtue that triumphs, but helplessness; it is not malice,
but mischievousness. It would be presumptuous in me to offer an
opinion as to the origin of these curious myth-stories; but, if
ethnologists should discover that they did not originate with the
African, the proof to that effect should be accompanied with a
good deal of persuasive eloquence.
Curiously enough, I have found few negroes who will acknowledge
to a stranger that they know anything of these legends; and yet
to relate one of the stories is the surest road to their
confidence and esteem. In this way, and in this way only, I have
been enabled to collect and verify the folklore included in this
volume. There is an anecdote about the Irishman and the rabbit
which a number of negroes have told to me with great unction, and
which is both funny and characteristic, though I will not
undertake to say that it has its origin with the blacks. One
day an Irishman who had heard people talking about "mares' nests"
was going along the big road--it is always the big road in
contradistinction to neighborhood paths and by-paths, called in
the vernacular "nigh-cuts"--when he came to a pumpkin--patch. The
Irishman had never seen any of this fruit before, and he at once
concluded that he had discovered a veritable mare's nest. Making
the most of his opportunity, he gathered one of the pumpkins in
his arms and went on his way. A pumpkin is an exceedingly awkward
thing to carry, and the Irishman had not gone far before he made
a misstep, and stumbled. The pumpkin fell to the ground, rolled
down the hill into a "brush--heap," and, striking against a
stump, was broken. The story continues in the dialect: "W'en de
punkin roll in de bresh--heap, out jump a rabbit; en soon's de
I'shmuns see dat, he take atter de rabbit en holler: 'Kworp,
colty! kworp, colty!' but de rabbit, he des flew." The point of
this is obvious.
As to the songs, the reader is warned that it will be found
difficult to make them conform to the ordinary rules of
versification, nor is it intended that they should so conform.
They are written, and are intended to be read, solely with
reference to the regular and invariable recurrence of the
caesura, as, for instance, the first stanza of the Revival Hymn:
"Oh, whar / shill we go / w'en de great / day comes
Wid de blow / in' er de trumpits / en de bang / in' er de
drums /
How man / y po' sin / ners'll be kotch'd / out late
En fine / no latch ter de gold / en gate /"
In other words, the songs depend for their melody and rhythm
upon the musical quality of time, and not upon long or short,
accented or unaccented syllables. I am persuaded that this fact
led Mr. Sidney Lanier, who is thoroughly familiar with the
metrical peculiarities of negro songs, into the exhaustive
investigation which has resulted in the publication of his
scholarly treatise on The Science of English Verse.
The difference between the dialect of the legends and that of the
character--sketches, slight as it is, marks the modifications
which the speech of the negro has undergone even where education
has played in deed, save in the no part reforming it. Indeed,
save in the remote country districts, the dialect of the legends
has nearly disappeared. I am perfectly well aware that the
character sketches are without permanent interest, but they are
embodied here for the purpose of presenting a phase of negro
character wholly distinct from that which I have endeavored to
preserve in the legends. Only in this shape, and with all the
local allusions, would it be possible to adequately represent the
shrewd observations, the curious retorts, the homely thrusts, the
quaint comments, and the humorous philosophy of the race of which
Uncle Remus is the type.
If the reader not familiar with plantation life will imagine that
the myth--stories of Uncle Remus are told night after night to a
little boy by an old negro who appears to be venerable enough to
have lived during the period which he describes--who has nothing
but pleasant memories of the discipline of slavery--and who has
all the prejudices of caste and pride of family that were the
natural results of the system; if the reader can imagine all
this, he will find little difficulty in appreciating and
sympathizing with the air of affectionate superiority which Uncle
Remus assumes as he proceeds to unfold the mysteries of
plantation lore to a little child who is the product of that
practical reconstruction which has been going on to some extent
since the war in spite of the politicians. Uncle Remus describes
that reconstruction in his Story of the War, and I may as well
add here for the benefit of the curious that that story is almost
literally true.
J. C. H.
CONTENTS
LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION
I. Uncle Remus initiates the Little Boy
II. The Wonderful Tar-Baby Story
III. Why Mr. Possum loves Peace
IV. How Mr. Rabbit was too sharp for Mr. Fox
V. The Story of the Deluge, and how it came about
VI. Mr. Rabbit grossly deceives Mr. Fox
VII. Mr. Fox is again victimized
VIII. Mr. Fox is "outdone" by Mr. Buzzard
IX. Miss Cow falls a Victim to Mr. Rabbit
X. Mr. Terrapin appears upon the Scene
XI. Mr. Wolf makes a Failure
XII. Mr. Fox tackles Old Man Tarrypin
XIII. The Awful Fate of Mr. Wolf
XIV. Mr. Fox and the Deceitful Frogs
XV. Mr. Fox goes a-hunting, but Mr. Rabbit bags the Game
XVI. Old Mr. Rabbit, he's a Good Fisherman
XVII. Mr. Rabbit nibbles up the Butter
XVIII. Mr. Rabbit finds his Match at last
XIX. The Fate of Mr. Jack Sparrow
XX. How Mr. Rabbit saved his Meat
XXI. Mr. Rabbit meets his Match again
XXII. A Story about the Little Rabbits
XXIII. Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Bear
XXIV. Mr. Bear catches Old Mr. Bull-Frog
XXV. How Mr. Rabbit lost his Fine Bushy Tail
XXVI. Mr. Terrapin shows his Strength
XXVII Why Mr. Possum has no Hair on his Tail
XXVIII. The End of Mr. Bear
XXIX. Mr. Fox gets into Serious Business
XXX. How Mr. Rabbit succeeded in raising a Dust.
XXXI. A Plantation Witch
XXXII. "Jacky-my-Lantern"
XXXIII. Why the Negro is Black
XXXIV. The Sad Fate of Mr. Fox
Plantation Proverbs
His Songs
I. Revival Hymn
II. Camp-Meeting Song
III. Corn-Shucking Song
IV. The Plough-hands Song
V. Christmas Play-Song
VI. Plantation Play-Song
VII. Transcriptions:
1. A Plantation Chant
2. A Plantation Serenade
VIII. De Big Bethel Church
IX. Time goes by Turns
A Story of the War
His Sayings
I. Jeems Rober'son's Last Illness
II. Uncle Remus's Church Experience
III. Uncle Remus and the Savannah Darkey
IV. Turnip Salad as a Text
V. A Confession
VI. Uncle Remus with the Toothache
VII. The Phonograph
VIII. Race Improvement
IX. In the Role of a Tartar
X. A Case of Measles
XI. The Emigrants
XII. As a Murderer
XIII. His Practical View of Things
XIV. That Deceitful Jug
XV. The Florida Watermelon
XVI. Uncle Remus preaches to a Convert
XVII. As to Education
XVIII. A Temperance Reformer
XIX. As a Weather Prophet
XX. The Old Man's Troubles
XXI. The Fourth of July
LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION
I. UNCLE REMUS INITIATES THE LITTLE BOY
One evening recently, the lady whom Uncle Remus calls "Miss
Sally" missed her little seven-year-old. Making search for him
through the house and through the yard, she heard the sound of
voices in the old man's cabin, and, looking through the window,
saw the child sitting by Uncle Remus. His head rested against the
old man's arm, and he was gazing with an expression of the most
intense interest into the rough, weather-beaten face, that beamed
so kindly upon him. This is what "Miss Sally" heard:
"Bimeby, one day, atter Brer Fox bin doin' all dat he could fer
ter ketch Brer Rabbit, en Brer Rabbit bein doin' all he could fer
ter keep 'im fum it, Brer Fox say to hisse'f dat he'd put up a
game on Brer Rabbit, en he ain't mo'n got de wuds out'n his mouf
twel Brer Rabbit came a lopin' up de big road, lookin' des ez
plump, en ez fat, en ez sassy ez a Moggin hoss in a barley-patch.
"'Hol' on dar, Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'I ain't got time, Brer Fox,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, sorter
mendin' his licks.
"'I wanter have some confab wid you, Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer Fox,
sezee.
"'All right, Brer Fox, but you better holler fum whar you stan'.
I'm monstus full er fleas dis mawnin',' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'I seed Brer B'ar yistdiddy, 'sez Brer Fox, sezee, 'en he sorter
rake me over de coals kaze you en me ain't make frens en live
naberly, en I tole 'im dat I'd see you.'
"Den Brer Rabbit scratch one year wid his off hinefoot sorter
jub'usly, en den he ups en sez, sezee:
"'All a settin', Brer Fox. Spose'n you drap roun' ter-morrer en
take dinner wid me. We ain't got no great doin's at our house,
but I speck de ole 'oman en de chilluns kin sorter scramble roun'
en git up sump'n fer ter stay yo' stummick.'
"'I'm 'gree'ble, Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'Den I'll 'pen' on you,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"Nex' day, Mr. Rabbit an' Miss Rabbit got up soom, 'fo' day, en
raided on a gyarden like Miss Sally's out dar, en got some
cabbiges, en some roas'n--years, en some sparrer-grass, en dey
fix up a smashin' dinner. Bimeby one er de little Rabbits,
playin' out in de back-yard, come runnin' in hollerin', 'Oh, ma!
oh, ma! I seed Mr. Fox a comin'!' En den Brer Rabbit he tuck de
chilluns by der years en make um set down, en den him and Miss
Rabbit sorter dally roun' waitin' for Brer Fox. En dey keep on
waitin' for Brer Fox. En dey keep on waitin', but no Brer Fox
ain't come. Atter 'while Brer Rabbit goes to de do', easy like,
en peep out, en dar, stickin' fum behime de cornder, wuz de
tip-een' er Brer Fox tail. Den Brer Rabbit shot de do' en sot
down, en put his paws behime his years en begin fer ter sing:
"'De place wharbouts you spill de grease,
Right dar you er boun' ter slide,
An' whar you fin' a bunch er ha'r,
You'll sholy fine de hide.'
"Nex' day, Brer Fox sont word by Mr. Mink, en skuze hisse'f kaze
he wuz too sick fer ter come, en he ax Brer Rabbit fer ter come
en take dinner wid him, en Brer Rabbit say he wuz 'gree'ble.
"Bimeby, w'en de shadders wuz at der shortes', Brer Rabbit he
sorter brush up en sa'nter down ter Brer Fox's house, en w'en he
got dar, he hear somebody groanin', en he look in de do' an dar
he see Brer Fox settin' up in a rockin'-cheer all wrop up wid
flannil, en he look mighty weak. Brer Rabbit look all roun', he
did, but he ain't see no dinner. De dish-pan wuz settin' on de
table, en close by wuz a kyarvin' knife.
"'Look like you gwineter have chicken fer dinner, Brer Fox,' sez
Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'Yes, Brer Rabbit, dey er nice, en fresh, en tender, 'sez Brer
Fox, sezee.
"Den Brer Rabbit sorter pull his mustarsh, en say: 'You ain't got
no calamus root, is you, Brer Fox? I done got so now dat I can't
eat no chicken 'ceppin she's seasoned up wid calamus root.'
En wid dat Brer Rabbit lipt out er de do' and dodge 'mong the
bushes, en sot dar watchin' for Brer Fox; en he ain't watch long,
nudder, kaze Brer Fox flung off de flannil en crope out er de
house en got whar he could cloze in on Brer Rabbit, en bimeby
Brer Rabbit holler out: 'Oh, Brer Fox! I'll des put yo' calamus
root out yer on dish yer stump. Better come git it while hit's
fresh,' and wid dat Brer Rabbit gallop off home. En Brer Fox
ain't never kotch 'im yit, en w'at's mo', honey, he ain't
gwineter."
II. THE WONDERFUL TAR BABY STORY
"Didn't the fox never catch the rabbit, Uncle Remus?" asked the
little boy the next evening.
"He come mighty nigh it, honey, sho's you born--Brer Fox did. One
day atter Brer Rabbit fool 'im wid dat calamus root, Brer Fox
went ter wuk en got 'im some tar, en mix it wid some turkentime,
en fix up a contrapshun w'at he call a Tar-Baby, en he tuck dish
yer Tar-Baby en he sot 'er in de big road, en den he lay off in
de bushes fer to see what de news wuz gwine ter be. En he didn't
hatter wait long, nudder, kaze bimeby here come Brer Rabbit
pacin' down de road--lippity-clippity, clippity-lippity--dez ez
sassy ez a jay-bird. Brer Fox, he lay low. Brer Rabbit come
prancin' 'long twel he spy de Tar-Baby, en den he fotch up on his
behime legs like he wuz 'stonished. De Tar Baby, she sot dar, she
did, en Brer Fox, he lay low.
"'Mawnin'!' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee--'nice wedder dis mawnin','
sezee.
"Tar-Baby ain't sayin' nuthin', en Brer Fox he lay low.
"'How duz yo' sym'tums seem ter segashuate?' sez Brer Rabbit,
sezee.
"Brer Fox, he wink his eye slow, en lay low, en de Tar-Baby, she
ain't sayin' nuthin'.
"'How you come on, den? Is you deaf?' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
'Kaze if you is, I kin holler louder,' sezee.
"Tar-Baby stay still, en Brer Fox, he lay low.
"'You er stuck up, dat's w'at you is,' says Brer Rabbit, sezee,
'en I'm gwine ter kyore you, dat's w'at I'm a gwine ter do,'
sezee.
"Brer Fox, he sorter chuckle in his stummick, he did, but Tar-
Baby ain't sayin' nothin'.
"'I'm gwine ter larn you how ter talk ter 'spectubble folks ef
hit's de las' ack,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. 'Ef you don't take
off dat hat en tell me howdy, I'm gwine ter bus' you wide open,'
sezee.
"Tar-Baby stay still, en Brer Fox, he lay low.
"Brer Rabbit keep on axin' 'im, en de Tar-Baby, she keep on
sayin' nothin', twel present'y Brer Rabbit draw back wid his
fis', he did, en blip he tuck 'er side er de head. Right dar's
whar he broke his merlasses jug. His fis' stuck, en he can't pull
loose. De tar hilt 'im. But Tar-Baby, she stay still, en Brer
Fox, he lay low.
"'Ef you don't lemme loose, I'll knock you agin,' sez Brer
Rabbit, sezee, en wid dat he fotch 'er a wipe wid de udder han',
en dat stuck. Tar-Baby, she ain't sayin' nuthin', en Brer Fox, he
lay low.
"'Tu'n me loose, fo' I kick de natchul stuffin' outen you,' sez
Brer Rabbit, sezee, but de Tar-Baby, she ain't sayin' nuthin'.
She des hilt on, en de Brer Rabbit lose de use er his feet in de
same way. Brer Fox, he lay low. Den Brer Rabbit squall out dat ef
de Tar-Baby don't tu'n 'im loose he butt 'er cranksided. En den
he butted, en his head got stuck. Den Brer Fox, he sa'ntered
fort', lookin' dez ez innercent ez wunner yo' mammy's mockin'-
birds.
"Howdy, Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer Fox, sezee. 'You look sorter stuck
up dis mawnin',' sezee, en den he rolled on de groun', en laft en
laft twel he couldn't laff no mo'. 'I speck you'll take dinner
wid me dis time, Brer Rabbit. I done laid in some calamus root,
en I ain't gwineter take no skuse,' sez Brer Fox, sezee."
Here Uncle Remus paused, and drew a two-pound yam out of the
ashes.
"Did the fox eat the rabbit?" asked the little boy to whom the
story had been told.
"Dat's all de fur de tale goes," replied the old man. "He mout,
an den agin he moutent. Some say Judge B'ar come 'long en loosed
'im--some say he didn't. I hear Miss Sally callin'. You better
run 'long."
III. WHY MR. POSSUM LOVES PEACE
"ONE night," said Uncle Remus--taking Miss Sally's little boy on
his knee, and stroking the child's hair thoughtfully and
caressingly--"one night Brer Possum call by fer Brer Coon,
'cordin' ter 'greement, en atter gobblin' up a dish er fried
greens en smokin' a seegyar, dey rambled fort' fer ter see how de
ballance er de settlement wuz gittin' long. Brer Coon, he wuz one
er deze yer natchul pacers, en he racked 'long same ez Mars
John's bay pony, en Brer Possum he went in a han'-gallup; en dey
got over heap er groun, mon. Brer Possum, he got his belly full
er 'simmons, en Brer Coon, he scoop up a 'bunnunce er frogs en
tadpoles. Dey amble long, dey did, des ez sociable ez a basket er
kittens, twel bimeby dey hear Mr. Dog talkin' ter hisse'f way off
in de woods.
"'Spozen he runs up on us, Brer Possum, w'at you gwineter do?'
sez Brer Coon, sezee. Brer Possum sorter laugh 'round de cornders
un his mouf.
"'Oh, ef he come, Brer Coon, I'm gwineter stan' by you,' sez Brer
Possum. 'W'at you gwineter do?' sezee.
"'Who? me?' sez Brer Coon. 'Ef he run up onter me, I lay I give
'im one twis',' sezee."
"Did the dog come?" asked the little boy.
"Go 'way, honey!" responded the old man, in an impressive tone.
"Go way! Mr. Dog, he come en he come a zoonin'. En he ain't wait
fer ter say howdy, nudder. He des sail inter de two un um. De
ve'y fus pas he make Brer Possum fetch a grin fum year ter year,
en keel over like he wuz dead. Den Mr. Dog, he sail inter Brer
Coon, en right dar's whar he drap his money purse, kaze Brer Coon
wuz cut out fer dat kinder bizness, en he fa'rly wipe up de face
er de yeth wid 'im. You better b'leeve dat w'en Mr. Dog got a
chance to make hisse'f skase he tuck it, en w'at der wuz lef' un
him went skaddlin' thoo de woods like hit wuz shot outen a
muskit. En Brer Coon, he sorter lick his cloze inter shape en
rack off, en Brer Possum, he lay dar like he wuz dead, twel
bimeby he raise up sorter keerful like, en w'en he fine de coas'
cle'r he scramble up en scamper off like sumpin' was atter 'im."
Here Uncle Remus paused long enough to pick up a live coal of
fire in his fingers, transfer it to the palm of his hand, and
thence to his clay pipe, which he had been filling--a proceeding
that was viewed by the little boy with undisguised admiration.
The old man then proceeded:
"Nex' time Brer Possum met Brer Coon, Brer Coon 'fuse ter 'spon'
ter his howdy, en dis make Brer Possum feel mighty bad, seein' ez
how dey useter make so many 'scurshuns tergedder.
"'W'at make you hol' yo' head so high, Brer Coon?' sez Brer
Possum, sezee.
"'I ain't runnin' wid cowerds deze days,' sez Brer Coon. 'W'en I
wants you I'll sen' fer you,' sezee.
"Den Brer Possum git mighty mad.
"'Who's enny cowerd?' sezee.
"'You is,' sez Brer Coon, 'dat's who. I ain't soshatin' wid dem
w'at lays down on de groun' en plays dead w'en dar's a free fight
gwine on,' sezee.
"Den Brer Possum grin en laugh fit to kill hisse'f. "'Lor', Brer
Coon, you don't speck I done dat kaze I wuz 'feared, duz you?'
sezee. 'W'y I want no mo 'feared dan you is dis minnit. W'at wuz
dey fer ter be skeered un?' sezee. 'I know'd you'd git away wid
Mr. Dog ef I didn't, en I des lay dar watchin' you shake him,
waitin' fer ter put in w'en de time come,' sezee.
"Brer Coon tu'n up his nose.
"'Dat's a mighty likely tale,' sezee, 'w'en Mr. Dog ain't mo'n
tech you 'fo' you keel over, en lay dar stiff,' sezee.
"'Dat's des w'at I wuz gwineter tell you 'bout; sez Brer Possum,
sezee. 'I want no mo' skeer'd dan you is right now, en' I wuz
fixin' fer ter give Mr. Dog a sample er my jaw,' sezee, 'but I'm
de most ticklish chap w'at you ever laid eyes on, en no sooner
did Mr. Dog put his nose down yer 'mong my ribs dan I got ter
laughin', en I laughed twel I ain't had no use er my lim's,'
sezee, 'en it's a mussy unto Mr. Dog dat I wuz ticklish, kaze a
little mo' en I'd e't 'im up,' sezee. 'I don't mine fightin',
Brer Coon, no mo' dan you duz,' sezee, 'but I declar' ter grashus
ef I kin stan' ticklin'. Git me in a row whar dey ain't no
ticklin' 'lowed, en I'm your man, sezee.
"En down ter dis day"--continued Uncle Remus, watching the
smoke from his pipe curl upward over the little boy's head--"down
ter dis day, Brer Possum's bound ter s'render w'en you tech him
in de short ribs, en he'll laugh ef he knows he's gwineter be
smashed fer it."
IV. HOW MR. RABBIT WAS TOO SHARP FOR MR. FOX
"UNCLE REMUS," said the little boy one evening, when he had
found the old man with little or nothing to do, "did the fox kill
and eat the rabbit when he caught him with the Tar-Baby?"
"Law, honey, ain't I tell you 'bout dat?" replied the old darkey,
chuckling slyly. "I 'clar ter grashus I ought er tole you dat,
but old man Nod wuz ridin' on my eyeleds 'twel a leetle mo'n I'd
a dis'member'd my own name, en den on to dat here come yo mammy
hollerin' atter you.
"W'at I tell you w'en I fus' begin? I tole you Brer Rabbit wuz a
monstus soon creetur; leas'ways dat's w'at I laid out fer ter
tell you. Well, den, honey, don't you go en make no udder
calkalashuns, kaze in dem days Brer Rabbit en his fambly wuz at
de head er de gang w'en enny racket wuz on han', en dar dey
stayed. 'Fo' you begins fer ter wipe yo' eyes 'bout Brer Rabbit,
you wait en see whar'bouts Brer Rabbit gwineter fetch up at. But
dat's needer yer ner dar.
"W'en Brer Fox fine Brer Rabbit mixt up wid de Tar-Baby, he feel
mighty good, en he roll on de groun' en laff. Bimeby he up'n say,
sezee:
"'Well, I speck I got you dis time, Brer Rabbit, sezee; 'maybe I
ain't, but I speck I is. You been runnin' roun' here sassin'
atter me a mighty long time, but I speck you done come ter de
een' er de row. You bin cuttin' up yo' capers en bouncin''roun'
in dis neighberhood ontwel you come ter b'leeve yo'se'f de boss
er de whole gang. En den you er allers somers whar you got no
bizness,' sez Brer Fox, sezee. 'Who ax you fer ter come en strike
up a 'quaintance wid dish yer Tar-Baby? En who stuck you up dar
whar you iz? Nobody in de roun' worl'. You des tuck en jam
yo'se'f on dat Tar-Baby widout waitin' fer enny invite,' sez Brer
Fox, sezee, en dar you is, en dar you'll stay twel I fixes up a
bresh-pile and fires her up, kaze I'm gwineter bobby-cue you dis
day, sho,' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"Den Brer Rabbit talk mighty 'umble.
"'I don't keer w'at you do wid me, Brer Fox,' sezee, 'so you
don't fling me in dat brier-patch. Roas' me, Brer Fox' sezee,
'but don't fling me in dat brierpatch,' sezee.
"'Hit's so much trouble fer ter kindle a fier,' sez Brer Fox,
sezee, 'dat I speck I'll hatter hang you,' sezee.
"'Hang me des ez high as you please, Brer Fox,' sez Brer Rabbit,
sezee, 'but do fer de Lord's sake don't fling me in dat brier-
patch,' sezee.
"'I ain't got no string,' sez Brer Fox, sezee, 'en now I speck
I'll hatter drown you,' sezee.
"'Drown me des ez deep ez you please, Brer Fox,' sez Brer Rabbit,
sezee, 'but do don't fling me in dat brier-patch,' sezee.
"'Dey ain't no water nigh,' sez Brer Fox, sezee, 'en now I speck
I'll hatter skin you,' sezee.
"'Skin me, Brer Fox,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'snatch out my
eyeballs, t'ar out my years by de roots, en cut off my legs,'
sezee, 'but do please, Brer Fox, don't fling me in dat brier-
patch,' sezee.
"Co'se Brer Fox wanter hurt Brer Rabbit bad ez he kin, so he
cotch 'im by de behime legs en slung 'im right in de middle er de
brier-patch. Dar wuz a considerbul flutter whar Brer Rabbit
struck de bushes, en Brer Fox sorter hang 'roun' fer ter see w'at
wuz gwineter happen. Bimeby he hear somebody call 'im, en way up
de hill he see Brer Rabbit settin' crosslegged on a chinkapin log
koamin' de pitch outen his har wid a chip. Den Brer Fox know dat
he bin swop off mighty bad. Brer Rabbit wuz bleedzed fer ter
fling back some er his sass, en he holler out:
"'Bred en bawn in a brier-patch, Brer Fox--bred en bawn in a
brier-patch!' en wid dat he skip out des ez lively ez a cricket
in de embers."
V. THE STORY OF THE DELUGE AND HOW IT CAME ABOUT
"ONE time," said Uncle Remus--adjusting his spectacles so as to
be able to see how to thread a large darning-needle with which he
was patching his coat--"one time, way back yander, 'fo' you wuz
bomed, honey, en 'fo' Mars John er Miss Sally wuz bomed--way back
yander 'fo' enny un us wuz bomed, de animils en de creeturs
sorter 'lecshuneer roun' 'mong deyselves, twel at las' dey 'greed
fer ter have a 'sembly. In dem days," continued the old man,
observing a look of incredulity on the little boy's face, "in dem
days creeturs had lots mo' sense dan dey got now; let 'lone dat,
dey had sense same like folks. Hit was tech en go wid um, too,
mon, en w'en dey make up der mines w'at hatter be done, 'twant
mo'n menshun'd 'fo, hit wuz done. Well, dey 'lected dat dey
hatter hol' er 'sembly fer ter sorter straighten out marters en
hear de complaints, en w'en de day come dey wuz on han'. De Lion,
he wuz dar, kase he wuz de king, en he hatter be der. De
Rhynossyhoss, he wuz dar, en de Elephant, he wuz dar, en de
Cammils, en de Cows, en plum' down ter de Crawfishes, dey wuz
dar. Dey wuz all dar. En w'en de Lion shuck his mane, en tuck his
seat in de big cheer, den de sesshun begun fer ter commence.
"What did they do, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy.
"I can't skacely call to mine 'zackly w'at dey did do, but dey
spoke speeches, en hollered, en cusst, en flung der langwidge
'roun' des like w'en yo' daddy wuz gwineter run fer de legislater
en got lef'. Howsomever, dey 'ranged der 'fairs, en splained der
bizness. Bimeby, w'ile dey wuz 'sputin' 'longer one er nudder, de
Elephant trompled on one er de Crawfishes. Co'se w'en dat creetur
put his foot down, w'atsumever's under dar wuz boun' fer ter be
squshed, en dey wa'n't nuff er dat Crawfish lef' fer ter tell dat
he'd bin dar.
"Dis make de udder Crawfishes mighty mad, en dey sorter swarmed
tergedder en draw'd up a kinder peramble wid some wharfo'es in
it, en read her out in de 'sembly. But, bless grashus! sech a
racket wuz a gwine on dat nobody ain't hear it, 'ceppin' maybe de
Mud Turkle en de Spring Lizzud, en dere enfloons wuz pow'ful
lackin'.
"Bimeby, w'iles de Nunicorn wuz 'sputin' wid de Lion, en w'ile de
Hyener wuz a laughin' ter hisse'f, de Elephant squshed anudder
one er de Crawfishes, en a little mo'n he'd er ruint de Mud
Turkle. Den de Crawfishes, w'at dey wuz lef' un um, swarmed
tergedder en draw'd up anudder peramble wid sum mo' wharfo'es;
but dey might ez well er sung Ole Dan Tucker ter a harrycane. De
udder creeturs wuz too busy wid der fussin' fer ter 'spon' unto
de Crawfishes. So dar dey wuz, de Crawfishes, en dey didn't know
w'at minnit wuz gwineter be de nex'; en dey kep' on gittin madder
en madder en skeerder en skeerder, twel bimeby dey gun de wink
ter de Mud Turkle en de Spring Lizzud, en den dey bo'd little
holes in de groun' en went down outer sight."
"Who did, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy.
"De Crawfishes, honey. Dey bo'd inter de groun' en kep' on bo'in
twel dey onloost de fountains er de yeth; en de waters squirt
out, en riz higher en higher twel de hills wuz kivvered, en de
creeturs wuz all drownded; en all bekaze dey let on 'mong
deyselves dat dey wuz bigger dan de Crawfishes."
Then the old man blew the ashes from a smoking yam, and
proceeded to remove the peeling.
"Where was the ark, Uncle Remus?" the little boy inquired,
presently.
"W'ich ark's dat?" asked the old man, in a tone of well-feigned
curiosity.
"Noah's ark," replied the child.
"Don't you pester wid ole man Noah, honey. I boun' he tuck keer
er dat ark. Dat's w'at he wuz dar fer, en dat's w'at he done.
Leas'ways, dat's w'at dey tells me. But don't you bodder longer
dat ark, 'ceppin' your mammy fetches it up. Dey mout er bin two
deloojes, en den agin dey moutent. Ef dey wuz enny ark in dish
yer w'at de Crawfishes brung on, I ain't heern tell un it, en
w'en dey ain't no arks 'roun', I ain't got no time fer ter make
um en put um in dar. Hit's gittin' yo' bedtime, honey."
VI. MR. RABBIT GROSSLY DECEIVES MR. FOX
ONE evening when the little boy, whose nights with Uncle Remus
were as entertaining as those Arabian ones of blessed memory, had
finished supper and hurried out to sit with his venerable patron,
he found the old man in great glee. Indeed, Uncle Remus was
talking and laughing to himself at such a rate that the little
boy was afraid he had company. The truth is, Uncle Remus had
heard the child coming, and, when the rosy-cheeked chap put his
head in at the door, was engaged in a monologue, the burden of
which seemed to be--
"Ole Molly Har',
W'at you doin' dar,
Settin' in de cornder
Smokin' yo' seegyar?"
As a matter of course this vague allusion reminded the little boy
of the fact that the wicked Fox was still in pursuit of the
Rabbit, and he immediately put his curiosity in the shape of a
question.
"Uncle Remus, did the Rabbit have to go clean away when he got
loose from the Tar-Baby?"
"Bless gracious, honey, dat he didn't. Who? Him? You dunno
nuthin' 'tall 'bout Brer Rabbit ef dat's de way you puttin' 'im
down. W'at he gwine 'way fer? He moughter stayed sorter close
twel de pitch rub off'n his ha'r, but tweren't menny days 'fo' he
wuz lopin' up en down de neighborhood same ez ever, en I dunno ef
he weren't mo' sassier dan befo'.
"Seem like dat de tale 'bout how he got mixt up wid de Tar-Baby
got 'roun' 'mongst de nabers. Leas'ways, Miss Meadows en de gals
got win' un' it, en de nex' time Brer Rabbit paid um a visit
Miss Meadows tackled 'im 'bout it, en de gals sot up a monstus
gigglement. Brer Rabbit, he sot up des ez cool ez a cowcumber, he
did, en let em run on.
"Who was Miss Meadows, Uncle Remus?" inquired the little boy.
"Don't ax me, honey. She wuz in de tale, Miss Meadows en de gals
wuz, en de tale I give you like hi't wer' gun ter me. Brer
Rabbit, he sot dar, he did, sorter lam' like, en den bimeby he
cross his legs, he did, and wink his eye slow, en up and say,
sezee:
"'Ladies, Brer Fox wuz my daddy's ridin'-hoss fer thirty year;
maybe mo', but thirty year dat I knows un,' sezee; en den he paid
um his 'specks, en tip his beaver, en march off, he did, des ez
stiff en ez stuck up ez a fire-stick.
"Nex' day, Brer Fox cum a callin', and w'en he gun fer ter laugh
'bout Brer Rabbit, Miss Meadows en de gals, dey ups en tells 'im
'bout w'at Brer Rabbit Say. Den Brer Fox grit his tushes sho'
nuff, he did, en he look mighty dumpy, but w'en he riz fer ter go
he up en say, sezee:
"'Ladies, I ain't 'sputin' w'at you say, but I'll make Brer
Rabbit chaw up his words en spit um out right yer whar you kin
see 'im,' sezee, en wid dat off Brer Fox put.
"En w'en he got in de big road, he shuck de dew off'n his tail,
en made a straight shoot fer Brer Rabbit's house. W'en he got
dar, Brer Rabbit wuz spectin' un 'im, en de do' wuz shet fas'.
Brer Fox knock. Nobody ain't ans'er. Brer Fox knock. Nobody
ans'er. Den he knock agin--blam! blam! Den Brer Rabbit holler out
mighty weak: 'Is dat you, Brer Fox? I want you ter run en fetch
de doctor. Dat bait er pusly w'at I e't dis mawnin' is gittin'
'way wid me. Do, please, Brer Fox, run quick,' sez Brer Rabbit,
sezee.
"'I come atter you, Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer Fox, sezee. 'Dar's
gwineter be a party up at Miss Meadows's,' sezee. 'All de gals
'll be dere, en I prommus' dat I'd fetch you. De gals, dey 'lowed
dat hit wouldn't be no party 'ceppin' I fotch you,' sez Brer Fox,
sezee.
"Den Brer Rabbit say he wuz too sick, en Brer Fox say he wuzzent,
en dar dey had it up and down, 'sputin' en contendin'. Brer
Rabbit say he can't walk. Brer Fox say he tote 'im. Brer Rabbit
say how? Brer Fox say in his arms. Brer Rabbit say he drap 'im.
Brer Fox 'low he won't. Bimeby Brer Rabbit say he go ef Brer Fox
tote 'im on his back. Brer Fox say he would. Brer Rabbit say he
can't ride widout a saddle. Brer Fox say he git de saddle. Brer
Rabbit say he can't set in saddle less he have bridle fer ter
hol' by. Brer Fox say he git de bridle. Brer Rabbit say he can't
ride widout bline bridle, kaze Brer Fox be shyin' at stumps long
de road, en fling 'im off. Brer Fox say he git bline bridle. Den
Brer Rabbit say he go. Den Brer Fox say he ride Brer Rabbit mos'
up ter Miss Meadows's, en den he could git down en walk de
balance er de way. Brer Rabbit 'greed, en den Brer Fox lipt out
atter de saddle en de bridle.
"Co'se Brer Rabbit know de game dat Brer Fox wuz fixin' fer ter
play, en he 'termin' fer ter outdo 'im, en by de time he koam his
ha'r en twis' his mustarsh, en sorter rig up, yer come Brer Fox,
saddle en bridle on, en lookin' ez peart ez a circus pony. He
trot up ter de do' en stan' dar pawin' de ground en chompin' de
bit same like sho 'nuff hoss, en Brer Rabbit he mount, he did, en
dey amble off. Brer Fox can't see behime wid de bline bridle on,
but bimeby he feel Brer Rabbit raise one er his foots.
"'W'at you doin' now, Brer Rabbit?' sezee.
"'Short'nin' de lef stir'p, Brer Fox,' sezee.
"Bimeby Brer Rabbit raise up de udder foot.
"'W'at you doin' now, Brer Rabbit?' sezee.
"'Pullin' down my pants, Brer Fox,' sezee.
"All de time, bless grashus, honey, Brer Rabbit wer' puttin' on
his spurrers, en w'en dey got close to Miss Meadows's, whar Brer
Rabbit wuz to git off, en Brer Fox made a motion fer ter stan'
still, Brer Rabbit slap de spurrers into Brer Fox flanks, en you
better b'leeve he got over groun'. W'en dey got ter de house,
Miss Meadows en all de gals wuz settin' on de peazzer, en stidder
stoppin' at de gate, Brer Rabbit rid on by, he did, en den come
gallopin' down de road en up ter de hoss-rack, w'ich he hitch
Brer Fox at, en den he santer inter de house, he did, en shake
han's wid de gals, en set dar, smokin' his seegyar same ez a town
man. Bimeby he draw in a long puff, en den let hit out in a
cloud, en squar hisse'f back en holler out, he did:
"'Ladies, ain't I done tell you Brer Fox wuz de ridin'-hoss fer
our fambly? He sorter losin' his gait now, but I speck I kin
fetch 'im all right in a mont' er so,' sezee.
"En den Brer Rabbit sorter grin, he did, en de gals giggle, en
Miss Meadows, she praise up de pony, en dar wuz Brer Fox hitch
fas' ter de rack, en couldn't he'p hisse'f."
"Is that all, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy as the old man
paused.
"Dat ain't all, honey, but 'twon't do fer ter give out too
much cloff fer ter cut one pa'r pants," replied the old man
sententiously.
VII. MR. FOX IS AGAIN VICTIMIZED
WHEN "Miss Sally's" little boy went to Uncle Remus the next
night to hear the conclusion of the adventure in which the Rabbit
made a riding-horse of the Fox to the great enjoyment and
gratification of Miss Meadows and the girls, he found the old man
in a bad humor.
"I ain't tellin' no tales ter bad chilluns," said Uncle Remus
curtly.
"But, Uncle Remus, I ain't bad," said the little boy plaintively.
"Who dat chunkin' dem chickens dis mawnin? Who dat knockin' out
fokes's eyes wid dat Yallerbammer sling des 'fo' dinner? Who dat
sickin' dat pinter puppy atter my pig? Who dat scatterin' my
ingun sets? Who dat flingin' rocks on top er my house, w'ich a
little mo' en one un em would er drap spang on my head?"
"Well, now, Uncle Remus, I didn't go to do it. I won't do so any
more. Please, Uncle Remus, if you will tell me, I'll run to the
house and bring you some tea-cakes."
"Seein' um's better'n hearin' tell un um, replied the old man,
the severity of his countenance relaxing somewhat; but the little
boy darted out, and in a few minutes came running back with his
pockets full and his hands full.
"I lay yo' mammy 'll 'spishun dat de rats' stummicks is widenin'
in dis neighborhood w'en she come fer ter count up 'er cakes,"
said Uncle Remus, with a chuckle. "Deze," he continued, dividing
the cakes into two equal parts--"dese I'll tackle now, en dese
I'll lay by fer Sunday.
"Lemme see. I mos' dis'member wharbouts Brer Fox en Brer Rabbit
wuz."
"The rabbit rode the fox to Miss Meadows's, and hitched him to
the horse-rack," said the little boy.
"W'y co'se he did," said Uncle Remus. "C'ose he did. Well, Brer
Rabbit rid Brer Fox up, he did, en tied 'im to de rack, en den
sot out in de peazzer wid de gals a smokin' er his seegyar wid
mo' proudness dan w'at you mos' ever see. Dey talk, en dey sing,
en dey play on de peanner, de gals did, twel bimeby hit come time
fer Brer Rabbit fer to be gwine, en he tell um all good-by, en
strut out to de hoss-rack same's ef he wuz de king er de patter-
rollers,*1 en den he mount Brer Fox en ride off.
"Brer Fox ain't sayin' nuthin' 'tall. He des rack off, he did, en
keep his mouf shet, en Brer Rabbit know'd der wuz bizness cookin'
up fer him, en he feel monstus skittish. Brer Fox amble on twel
he git in de long lane, outer sight er Miss Meadows's house, en
den he tu'n loose, he did. He rip en he ra'r, en he cuss, en he
swar; he snort en he cavort."
"What was he doing that for, Uncle Remus?" the little boy
inquired.
"He wuz tryin' fer ter fling Brer Rabbit off'n his back, bless
yo' soul! But he des might ez well er rastle wid his own shadder.
Every time he hump hisse'f Brer Rabbit slap de spurrers in 'im,
en dar dey had it, up en down. Brer Fox fa'rly to' up de groun'
he did, en he jump so high en he jump so quick dat he mighty nigh
snatch his own tail off. Dey kep' on gwine on dis way twel bimeby
Brer Fox lay down en roll over, he did, en dis sorter onsettle
Brer Rabbit, but by de time Brer Fox got back on his footses
agin, Brer Rabbit wuz gwine thoo de underbresh mo' samer dan a
race-hoss. Brer Fox he lit out atter 'im, he did, en he push Brer
Rabbit so close dat it wuz 'bout all he could do fer ter git in a
holler tree. Hole too little fer Brer Fox fer ter git in, en he
hatter lay down en res en gedder his mine tergedder.
"While he wuz layin' dar, Mr. Buzzard come floppin' 'long, en
seein' Brer Fox stretch out on de groun', he lit en view de
premusses. Den Mr. Buzzard sorter shake his wing, en put his head
on one side, en say to hisse'f like, sezee:
"'Brer Fox dead, en I so sorry,' sezee.
"'No I ain't dead, nudder,' sez Brer Fox, sezee. 'I got ole man
Rabbit pent up in yer,' sezee, 'en I'm a gwine ter git 'im dis
time ef it take twel Chris'mus,' sezee.
"Den, atter some mo' palaver, Brer Fox make a bargain dat Mr.
Buzzard wuz ter watch de hole, en keep Brer Rabbit dar wiles Brer
Fox went atter his axe. Den Brer Fox, he lope off, he did, en Mr.
Buzzard, he tuck up his stan' at de hole. Bimeby, w'en all git
still, Brer Rabbit sorter scramble down close ter de hole, he
did, en holler out:
"'Brer Fox! Oh! Brer Fox!'
"Brer Fox done gone, en nobody say nuthin'. Den Brer Rabbit
squall out like he wuz mad; sezee:
"'You needn't talk less you wanter,' sezee; 'I knows you er dar,
en I ain't keerin',' sezee. 'I des wanter tell you dat I wish
mighty bad Brer Tukkey Buzzard wuz here,' sezee.
"Den Mr. Buzzard try ter talk like Brer Fox:
"'W'at you want wid Mr. Buzzard?' sezee.
"'Oh, nuthin' in 'tickler, 'cep' dere's de fattes' gray squir'l
in yer dat ever I see,' sezee, 'en ef Brer Tukkey Buzzard wuz
'roun' he'd be mighty glad fer ter git 'im,' sezee.
"'How Mr. Buzzard gwine ter git 'im?' sez de Buzzard, sezee.
"'Well, dar's a little hole roun' on de udder side er de tree,'
sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'en ef Brer Tukkey Buzzard wuz here so he
could take up his stan' dar,' sezee, 'I'd drive dat squir'l out,'
sezee.
"'Drive 'im out, den,' sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee, 'en I'll see dat
Brer Tukkey Buzzard gits 'im,' sezee.
"Den Brer Rabbit kick up a racket, like he wer' drivin' sumpin'
out, en Mr. Buzzard he rush 'roun' fer ter ketch de squir'l, en
Brer Rabbit, he dash out, he did, en he des fly fer home."
At this point Uncle Remus took one of the teacakes, held his head
back, opened his mouth, dropped the cake in with a sudden motion,
looked at the little boy with an expression of astonishment,
and then closed his eyes, and begun to chew, mumbling as an
accompaniment the plaintive tune of "Don't you Grieve atter Me."
The seance was over; but, before the little boy went into the
"big house," Uncle Remus laid his rough hand tenderly on the
child's shoulder, and remarked, in a confidential tone:
"Honey, you mus' git up soon Chris'mus mawnin' en open de do';
kase I'm gwineter bounce in on Marse John en Miss Sally, en
holler 'Chris'mus gif'' des like I useter endurin' de farmin'
days fo' de war, w'en ole Miss wuz 'live. I bound' dey don't
fergit de ole nigger, nudder. W'en you hear me callin' de pigs,
honey, you des hop up en onfassen de do'. I lay I'll give Marse
John one er dese yer 'sprize parties."
*1 Patrols. In the country districts, order was kept on the
plantations at night by the knowledge that they were liable
to be visited at any moment by the patrols. Hence a song
current among the negroes, the chorus of which was:
"Run, nigger, run; patter-roller ketch you--
Run, nigger, run; hit's almos' day."
VIII. MR. FOX IS "OUTDONE" BY MR. BUZZARD
"EF I don't run inter no mistakes," remarked Uncle Remus, as the
little boy came tripping in to see him after supper, "Mr. Tukkey
Buzzard wuz gyardin' de holler whar Brer Rabbit went in at, en
w'ich he come out un."
The silence of the little boy verified the old man's
recollection.
"Well, Mr. Buzzard, he feel mighty lonesome, he did, but he done
prommust Brer Fox dat he'd stay, en he 'termin' fer ter sorter
hang 'roun' en jine in de joke. En he ain't hatter wait long,
nudder, kase bimeby yer come Brer Fox gallopin' thoo de woods wid
his axe on his shoulder.
"'How you speck Brer Rabbit gittin' on, Brer Buzzard?' sez Brer
Fox, sezee.
"'Oh, he in dar,' sez Brer Buzzard, sezee. 'He mighty still,
dough. I speck he takin' a nap,' sezee.
"'Den I'm des in time fer ter wake im up, sez Brer Fox, sezee. En
wid dat he fling off his coat, en spit in his han's, en grab de
axe. Den he draw back en come down on de tree--pow! En eve'y time
he come down wid de axe--pow!--Mr. Buzzard, he step high, he did,
en holler out:
"'Oh, he in dar, Brer Fox. He in dar, sho.'
"En eve'y time a chip ud fly off, Mr. Buzzard, he'd jump, en
dodge, en hol' his head sideways, he would, en holler:
"'He in dar, Brer Fox. I done heerd 'im. He in dar, sho.'
"En Brer Fox, he lammed away at dat holler tree, he did, like a
man maulin' rails, twel bimeby, atter he done got de tree mos'
cut thoo, he stop fer ter ketch his bref, en he seed Mr. Buzzard
laughin' behime his back, he did, en right den en dar, widout
gwine enny fudder, Brer Fox, he smelt a rat. But Mr. Buzzard, he
keep on holler'n:
"'He in dar, Brer Fox. He in dar, sho. I done seed 'im.'
"Den Brer Fox, he make like he peepin' up de holler, en he say,
sezee:
"'Run yer, Brer Buzzard, en look ef dis ain't Brer Rabbit's foot
hanging down yer.'
"En Mr. Buzzard, he come steppin' up, he did, same ez ef he wer
treddin' on kurkle-burs, en he stick his head in de hole; en no
sooner did he done dat dan Brer Fox grab 'im. Mr. Buzzard flap
his wings, en scramble 'roun' right smartually, he did, but
'twant no use. Brer Fox had de 'vantage er de grip, he did, en he
hilt 'im right down ter de groun'. Den Mr. Buzzard squall out,
sezee:
"'Lemme 'lone, Brer Fox. Tu'n me loose,' sezee; 'Brer Rabbit 'll
git out. You er gittin' close at 'im,' sezee, 'en leb'm mo'
licks'll fetch 'im,' sezee.
"'I'm nigher ter you, Brer Buzzard,' sez Brer Fox, sezee, 'dan
I'll be ter Brer Rabbit dis day,' sezee. 'W'at you fool me fer?'
sezee.
"'Lemme lone, Brer Fox,' sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee; my ole 'oman
waitin' fer me. Brer Rabbit in dar,' sezee.
"'Dar's a bunch er his fur on dat black-be'y bush,' sez Brer Fox,
sezee, 'en dat ain't de way he come,' sezee.
"Den Mr. Buzzard up'n tell Brer Fox how 'twuz, en he 'low'd, Mr.
Buzzard did, dat Brer Rabbit wuz de lowdownest w'atsizname w'at
he ever run up wid. Den Brer Fox say, sezee:
"'Dat's needer here ner dar, Brer Buzzard,' sezee. 'I lef' you
yer fer ter watch dish yere hole, en I lef' Brer Rabbit in dar. I
comes back en I fines you at de 'ole en Brer Rabbit ain't in
dar,' sezee. 'I'm gwineter make you pay fer't. I done bin
tampered wid twel plum' down ter de sap sucker'll set on a log en
sassy me. I'm gwineter fling you in a bresh-heap en burn you up,'
sezee.
"'Ef you fling me on der fier, Brer Fox, I'll fly 'way,' sez Mr.
Buzzard, sezee.
"'Well, den, I'll settle yo' hash right now,' sez Brer Fox,
sezee, en wid dat he grab Mr. Buzzard by de tail, he did, en make
fer ter dash 'im 'gin de groun', but des 'bout dat time de tail
fedders come out, en Mr. Buzzard sail off like one er dese yer
berloons; en ez he riz, he holler back:
"'You gimme good start, Brer Fox,' sezee, en Brer Fox sot dar en
watch 'im fly outer sight."
"But what became of the Rabbit, Uncle Remus?" asked the little
boy.
"Don't you pester longer Brer Rabbit, honey, en don't you fret
'bout 'im. You'll year whar he went en how he come out. Dish yer
col' snap rastles wid my bones, now," continued the old man,
putting on his hat and picking up his walking-stick. "Hit rastles
wid me monstus, en I gotter rack 'roun' en see if I kin run up
agin some Chris'mus leavin's."
IX. MISS COW FALLS A VICTIM TO MR. RABBIT
"UNCLE REMUS," said the little boy, "what became of the Rabbit
after he fooled the Buzzard, and got out of the hollow tree?"
"Who? Brer Rabbit? Bless yo' soul, honey, Brer Rabbit went
skippin' long home, he did, des ez sassy ez a jay-bird at a
sparrer's nes'. He went gallopin' 'long, he did, but he feel
mighty fired out, en stiff in his jints, en he wuz mighty nigh
dead for sumpin fer ter drink, en bimeby, w'en he got mos' home,
he spied ole Miss Cow feedin' roun' in a fiel', he did, en he
'termin' fer ter try his han' wid 'er. Brer Rabbit know mighty
well dat Miss Cow won't give 'im no milk, kaze she done 'fuse 'im
mo'n once, en w'en his ole 'oman wuz sick, at dat. But never mind
dat. Brer Rabbit sorter dance up long side er de fence, he did,
en holler out:
"'Howdy, Sis Cow,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'W'y, howdy, Brer Rabbit,' sez Miss Cow, sez she.
"'How you fine yo'se'f deze days, Sis Cow?' sez Brer Rabbit,
sezee.
"'I'm sorter toler'ble, Brer Rabbit; how you come on?' sez Miss
Cow, sez she.
"'Oh, I'm des toler'ble myse'f, Sis Cow; sorter linger'n' twix' a
bauk en a break-down,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'How yo' fokes, Brer Rabbit?' sez Miss Cow, sez she.
"'Dey er des middlin', Sis Cow; how Brer Bull gittin' on?' sez
Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'Sorter so-so,' sez Miss Cow, sez she.
"'Dey er some mighty nice 'simmons up dis tree, Sis Cow,' sez
Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'en I'd like mighty well fer ter have some un
um,' sezee.
"'How you gwineter git um, Brer Rabbit?' sez she.
"'I 'lowed maybe dat I might ax you fer ter butt 'gin de tree, en
shake some down, Sis Cow,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"C'ose Miss Cow don't wanter diskommerdate Brer Rabbit, en she
march up ter de 'simmon tree, she did, en hit it a rap wid 'er
horns--blam! Now, den," continued Uncle Remus, tearing off the
comer of a plug of tobacco and cramming it into his mouth--"now,
den, dem 'simmons wuz green ez grass, en na'er one never drap.
Den Miss Cow butt de tree--blim! Na'er 'simmon drap. Den Miss
Cow sorter back off little, en run agin de tree--blip! No
'simmons never drap. Den Miss Cow back off little fudder, she
did, en hi'st her tail on 'er back, en come agin de tree,
kerblam! en she come so fas', en she come so hard, twel one 'er
her horns went spang thoo de tree, en dar she wuz. She can't go
forerds, en she can't go backerds. Dis zackly w'at Brer Rabbit
waitin' fer, en he no sooner seed ole Miss Cow all fas'en'd up
dan he jump up, he did, en cut de pidjin-wing.
"'Come he'p me out, Brer Rabbit,' sez Miss Cow, sez she.
"'I can't clime, Sis Cow,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'but I'll
run'n tell Brer Bull,' sezee; en wid dat Brer Rabbit put out fer
home, en 'twan't long 'fo here he come wid his ole 'oman en all
his chilluns, en de las' one er de fambly wuz totin' a pail. De
big uns had big pails, en de little uns had little pails. En dey
all s'roundid ole Miss Cow, dey did, en you hear me, honey, dey
milk't 'er dry. De ole uns milk't en de young uns milk't, en den
w'en dey done got nuff, Brer Rabbit, he up'n say, sezee:
"'I wish you mighty well, Sis Cow. I 'low'd, bein's how dat you'd
hatter sorter camp out all night dat I'd better come en swaje yo'
bag,' sezee."
"Do which, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy.
"Go long, honey! Swaje 'er bag. W'en cows don't git milk't, der
bag swells, en you k'n hear um a moanin' en a beller'n des like
dey wuz gittin' hurtid. Dat's w'at Brer Rabbit done. He 'sembled
his fambly, he did, en he swaje ole Miss Cow's bag.
"Miss Cow, she stood dar, she did, en she study en study, en
strive fer ter break loose, but de horn done bin jam in de tree
so tight dat twuz way 'fo day in de mornin' 'fo' she loose it.
Anyhow hit wuz endurin' er de night, en atter she git loose she
sorter graze 'roun', she did, fer ter jestify 'er stummuck she
low'd, ole Miss Cow did, dat Brer Rabbit be hoppin' long dat way
fer ter see how she gittin' on, en she tuck'n lay er trap fer
'im; en des 'bout sunrise w'at'd ole Miss Cow do but march up ter
de 'simmon tree en stick er horn back in de hole? But, bless yo'
soul, honey, w'ile she wuz croppin' de grass she tuck one mou'ful
too menny, kaze w'en she hitch on ter de 'simmon tree agin, Brer
Rabbit wuz settin' in de fence cornder a watchin' un 'er. Den
Brer Rabbit he say ter hisse'f:
"'Heyo,' sezee, 'w'at dis yer gwine on now? Hol' yo' hosses, Sis
Cow, twel you hear me comin',' sezee.
"En den he crope off down de fence, Brer Rabbit did, en bimeby
here he come--lippity-clippity, clippity-lippity--des a sailin'
down de big road.
"'Mornin', Sis Cow,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'bow you come on dis
mornin'?' sezee.
"Po'ly, Brer Rabbit, poly,' sez Miss Cow, sez she. 'I ain't had
no res' all night,' sez she. 'I can't pull loose,' sez she, 'but
ef you'll come en ketch holt er my tail, Brer Rabbit,' sez she,
'I reckin may be I kin fetch my horn out,' sez she. Den Brer
Rabbit, he come up little closer, but he ain't gittin' too close.
"'I speck I'm nigh nuff, Sis Cow,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. 'I'm a
mighty puny man, en I might git trompled,' sezee. 'You do de
pullin', Sis Cow,' sezee, en I'll do de gruntin,' sezee.
"Den Miss Cow, she pull out 'er horn, she did, en tuck atter Brer
Rabbit, en down de big road dey had it, Brer Rabbit wid his years
laid back, en Miss Cow wid 'er head down en 'er tail curl. Brer
Rabbit kep' on gainin', en bimeby he dart in a brier-patch, en by
de time Miss Cow come long he had his head stickin' out, en his
eyes look big ez Miss Sally's chany sassers.
"'Heyo, Sis Cow! whar you gwine?' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'Howdy, Brer Big-Eyes,' sez Miss Cow, sez she. 'Is you seed Brer
Rabbit go by?'
"'He des dis minit pass,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'en he look
mighty sick,' sezee.
"En wid dat, Miss Cow tuck down de road like de dogs wuz atter
er, en Brer Rabbit, he des lay down dar in de brier-patch en roll
en laugh twel his sides hurtid 'im. He bleedzd ter laff. Fox
atter 'im, Buzzard atter 'im, en Cow atter 'im, en dey ain't
kotch 'im yet."
X. MR. TERRAPIN APPEARS UPON THE SCENE
"MISS SALLY'S" little boy again occupying the anxious position
of auditor, Uncle Remus took the shovel and "put de noses er de
chunks tergedder," as he expressed it, and then began:
"One day, atter Sis Cow done run pas' 'er own shadder tryin' fer
ter ketch 'im. Brer Rabbit tuck'n 'low dat he wuz gwineter drap
in
en see Miss Meadows en de gals, en he got out his piece er
lookin'-glass en primp up, he did, en sot out. Gwine canterin'
long de road, who should Brer Rabbit run up wid but ole Brer
Tarrypin--de same ole one-en-sixpunce. Brer Rabbit stop, he did,
en rap on de roof er Brer Tarrypin house."
"On the roof of his house, Uncle Remus?" interrupted the little
boy.
"Co'se honey, Brer Tarrypin kyar his house wid 'im. Rain er
shine, hot er col', strike up wid ole Brer Tarrypin w'en you
will en w'ilst you may, en whar you fine 'im, dar you'll fine
his shanty. Hit's des like I tell you. So den! Brer Rabbit he
rap on de roof er Brer Tarrypin's house, he did, en ax wuz he
in, en Brer Tarrypin 'low dat he wuz, en den Brer Rabbit, he ax
'im howdy, en den Brer Tarrypin he likewise 'spon' howdy, en den
Brer Rabbit he say whar wuz Brer Tarrypin gwine, en Brer
Tarrypin, he say w'ich he wern't gwine nowhar skasely. Den Brer
Rabbit 'low he wuz on his way fer ter see Miss Meadows en de
gals, en he ax Brer Tarrypin ef he won't jine in en go long, en
Brer Tarrypin 'spon' he don't keer ef he do, en den dey sot out.
Dey had plenty er time fer confabbin' 'long de way, but bimeby
dey got dar, en Miss Meadows en de gals dey come ter de do', dey
did, en ax um in, en in dey went.
"W'en dey got in, Brer Tarrypin wuz so flat-footed dat he wuz too
low on de flo', en he wern't high nuff in a cheer, but while dey
wuz all scrambling' 'roun' tryin' fer ter git Brer Tarrypin a
cheer, Brer Rabbit, he pick 'im up en put 'im on de shelf whar de
water-bucket sot, en ole Brer Tarrypin, he lay back up dar, he
did, des es proud ez a nigger wid a cook possum.
"Co'se de talk fell on Brer Fox, en Miss Meadows en de gals make
a great 'miration 'bout w'at a gaily ridin'-hoss Brer Fox wuz, en
dey make lots er fun, en laugh en giggle same like gals duz deze
days. Brer Rabbit, he sot dar in de cheer smokin' his seegyar, en
he sorter cle'r up his th'oat, en say, sezee:
"I'd er rid 'im over dis mawnin', ladies,' sezee, but I rid 'im
so hard yistiddy dat he went lame in de off fo' leg, en I speck
I'll hatter swop 'im off yit,' sezee.
"Den Brer Tarrypin, he up'n say, sezee:
"'Well, ef you gwineter sell 'im, Brer Rabbit,' sezee, 'sell him
some'rs out'n dis naberhood, kase he done bin yer too long now,'
sezee. 'No longer'n day 'fo' yistiddy,' sezee, 'Brer Fox pass me
on de road, en whatter you reckin he say?' sezee:
"'Law, Brer Tarrypin,' sez Miss Meadows, sez she, 'you don't mean
ter say he cusst?' sez she, en den de gals hilt der fans up 'fo'
der faces.
"'Oh, no, ma'am,' sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee, 'he didn't cusst, but
he holler out--"Heyo, Stinkin' Jim!"' sezee.
"'Oh, my! You hear dat, gals?' sez Miss Meadows, sez she; 'Brer
Fox call Brer Tarrypin Stinkin' Jim,' sez she, en den Miss
Meadows en de gals make great wonderment how Brer Fox kin talk
dat a way 'bout nice man like Brer Tarrypin.
"But bless grashus, honey! w'ilst all dis gwine on, Brer Fox wuz
stannin' at de back do' wid one year at de cat-hole lissenin'.
Eave-drappers don't hear no good er deyse'f, en de way Brer Fox
wuz 'bused dat day wuz a caution.
"Bimeby Brer Fox stick his head in de do', en holler out:
"'Good evenin', fokes, I wish you mighty well,' sezee, en wid dat
he make a dash for Brer Rabbit, but Miss Meadows en de gals dey
holler en squall, dey did, en Brer Tarrypin he got ter scramblin'
roun' up dar on de shelf, en off he come, en blip he tuck Brer
Fox on de back er de head. Dis sorter stunted Brer Fox, en w'en
he gedder his 'membunce de mos' he seed wuz a pot er greens turnt
over in de fireplace, en a broke cheer. Brer Rabbit wuz gone, en
Brer Tarrypin wuz gone, en Miss Meadows en de gals wuz gone.
"Where did the Rabbit go, Uncle Remus?" the little boy asked,
after a pause.
"Bless yo' soul, honey! Brer Rabbit he skint up de chimbly--dat's
w'at turnt de pot er greens over. Brer Tarrypin, he crope under
de bed, he did, en got behime de cloze-chist, en Miss Meadows en
de gals, dey run out in de yard.
"Brer Fox, he sorter look roun' en feel or de back er his head,
whar Brer Tarrypin lit, but he don't see no sine er Brer Rabbit.
But de smoke en de ashes gwine up de chimbly got de best er Brer
Rabbit, en bimeby he sneeze--huckychow!
"'Aha!' sez Brer Fox, sezee; 'you er dar, is you?' sezee. 'Well,
I'm gwineter smoke you out, ef it takes a mont'. You er mine dis
time,' sezee. Brer Rabbit ain't Sayin' nuthin'.
"'Ain't you comin' down?' sez Brer Fox, sezee. Brer Rabbit ain't
sayin' nuthin'. Den Brer Fox, he went out atter some wood, he
did, en w'en he come back he hear Brer Rabbit laughin'.
"'W'at you laughin' at, Brer Rabbit?' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'Can't tell you, Brer Fox,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'Better tell, Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'Tain't nuthin' but a box er money somebody done gone en lef' up
yer in de chink er de chimbly,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'Don't b'leeve you,' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'Look up en see,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, en w'en Brer Fox look
up, Brer Rabbit spit his eyes full er terbacker joose, he did, en
Brer Fox, he make a break fer de branch, en Brer Rabbit he come
down en tole de ladies good-by.
"'How you git 'im off, Brer Rabbit?' sez Miss Meadows, sez she.
"'Who? me?' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee; 'w'y I des tuck en tole 'im
dat ef he didn't go 'long home en stop playin' his pranks on
spectubble fokes, dat I'd take 'im out and th'ash 'im,' sezee."
"And what became of the Terrapin?" asked the little boy.
"Oh, well den!" exclaimed the old man, "chilluns can't speck ter
know all 'bout eve'ything 'fo' dey git some res'. Dem eyelids er
yone wanter be propped wid straws dis minnit."
XI. MR. WOLF MAKES A FAILURE
"I LAY yo' ma got comp'ny," said Uncle Remus, as the little boy
entered the old man's door with a huge piece of mince-pie in his
hand, 'en ef she ain't got comp'ny, den she done gone en drap de
cubberd key som'ers whar you done run up wid it."
"Well, I saw the pie lying there, Uncle Remus, and I just thought
I'd fetch it out to you."
"Tooby sho, honey," replied the old man, regarding the child with
admiration. "Tooby sho, honey; dat changes marters. Chris'mus
doin's is outer date, en dey ain't got no bizness layin' roun'
loose. Dish yer pie," Uncle Remus continued, holding it up and
measuring it with an experienced eye, "will gimme strenk fer ter
persoo on atter Brer Fox en Brer Rabbit en de udder creeturs w'at
dey roped in 'long wid um."
Here the old man paused, and proceeded to demolish the pie--a
feat accomplished in a very short time. Then he wiped the crumbs
from his beard and began:
"Brer Fox feel so bad, en he git so mad 'bout Brer Rabbit, dat he
dunner w'at ter do, en he look mighty down-hearted. Bimeby, one
day wiles he wuz gwine 'long de road, old Brer Wolf come up wid
'im. W'en dey done howdyin' en axin' atter one nudder's fambly
connexshun, Brer Wolf, he 'low, he did, dat der wuz sump'n wrong
wid Brer Fox, en Brer Fox, he 'low'd der wern't, en he went on en
laugh en make great terdo kaze Brer Wolf look like he spishun
sump'n. But Brer Wolf, he got mighty long head, en he sorter
broach 'bout Brer Rabbit's kyar'ns on, kaze de way dat Brer
Rabbit 'ceive Brer Fox done got ter be de talk er de naberhood.
Den Brer Fox en Brer Wolf dey sorter palavered on, dey did, twel
bimeby Brer Wolf he up'n say dat he done got plan fix fer ter
trap Brer Rabbit. Den Brer Fox say how. Den Brer Wolf up'n tell
'im dat de way fer ter git de drap on Brer Rabbit wuz ter git 'im
in Brer Fox house. Brer Fox dun know Brer Rabbit uv ole, en he
know dat sorter game done wo' ter a frazzle, but Brer Wolf, he
talk mighty 'swadin'.
"'How you gwine git 'im dar?' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'Fool 'im dar,' sez Brer Wolf, sezee.
"'Who gwine do de foolin'?' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'I'll do de foolin',' sez Brer Wolf, sezee, 'ef you'll do de
gamin',' sezee.
"'How you gwine do it?' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'You run 'long home, en git on de bed, en make like you dead, en
don't you say nothin' twel Brer Rabbit come en put his han's
onter you,' sez Brer Wolf, sezee, 'en ef we don't git 'im fer
supper, Joe's dead en Sal's a widder,' sezee.
"Dis look like mighty nice game, en Brer Fox 'greed. So den he
amble off home, en Brer Wolf, he march off ter Brer Rabbit house.
W'en he got dar, hit look like nobody at home, but Brer Wolf he
walk up en knock on de do'--blam! blam! Nobody come. Den he
lam aloose en knock 'gin--blim! blim!
"'Who dar?' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'Fr'en',' sez Brer Wolf.
"'Too menny fr'en's spiles de dinner,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee;
'w'ich un's dis?' sezee.
"'I fetch bad news, Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer Wolf, sezee.
"'Bad news is soon tole,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"By dis time Brer Rabbit done come ter de do', wid his head tied
up in a red hankcher.
"'Brer Fox died dis mornin',' sez Brer Wolf, sezee.
"'Whar yo' mo'nin' gown, Brer Wolf?' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'Gwine atter it now,' sez Brer Wolf, sezee. 'I des call by fer
ter bring de news. I went down ter Brer Fox house little bit 'go,
en dar I foun' 'im stiff,' sezee.
"Den Brer Wolf lope off. Brer Rabbit sot down en scratch his
head, he did, en bimeby he say ter hisse'f dat he b'leeve he
sorter drap 'roun' by Brer Fox house fer ter see how de lan' lay.
No sooner said'n done. Up he jump, en out he went. W'en Brer
Rabbit got close ter Brer Fox house, all look lonesome. Den he
went up nigher. Nobody stirrin'. Den he look in, en dar lay Brer
Fox stretch out on de bed des es big ez life. Den Brer Rabbit
make like he talkin' to hisse'f.
"'Nobody 'roun' fer ter look atter Brer Fox--not even Brer Tukkey
Buzzard ain't come ter de funer'l,' sezee. 'I hope Brer Fox ain't
dead, but I speck he is,' sezee. 'Even down ter Brer Wolf done
gone en lef' 'im. Hit's de busy season wid me, but I'll set up
wid 'im. He seem like he dead, yit he mayn't be,' sez Brer
Rabbit, sezee. 'W'en a man go ter see dead fokes, dead fokes
allers raises up der behime leg en hollers, wahoo!' sezee.
"Brer Fox he stay still. Den Brer Rabbit he talk little louder:
"'Mighty funny. Brer Fox look like he dead, yit he don't do like
he dead. Dead fokes hists der behime leg en hollers wahoo! w'en a
man come ter see um, sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"Sho' nuff, Brer Fox lif' up his foot en holler wahoo! en Brer
Rabbit he tear out de house like de dogs wuz atter 'im. Brer Wolf
mighty smart, but nex' time you hear fum 'im, honey, he'll be in
trouble. You des hol' yo' breff'n wait."
XII. MR. FOX TACKLES OLD MAN TARRYPIN
"ONE day," said Uncle Remus, sharpening his knife on the palm
of his hand--"one day Brer Fox strike up wid Brer Tarrypin right
in de middle er de big road. Brer Tarrypin done heerd 'im comin',
en he 'low ter hisse'f dat he'd sorter keep one eye open; but
Brer Fox wuz monstus perlite, en he open up de confab, he did,
like he ain't see Brer Tarrypin sence de las' freshit.
"'Heyo, Brer Tarrypin, whar you bin dis long-come-short?' sez
Brer Fox, sezee.
"'Lounjun 'roun', Brer Fox, lounjun 'roun',' sez Brer Tarrypin.
"'You don't look sprucy like you did, Brer Tarrypin,' sez Brer
Fox, sezee.
"'Lounjun 'roun' en suffer'n',' sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee.
"Den de talk sorter run on like dis:
"'W'at ail you, Brer Tarrypin? Yo' eye look mighty red,' sez Brer
Fox, sezee.
"'Lor', Brer Fox, you dunner w'at trubble is. You ain't bin
lounjun 'roun' en suffer'n',' sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee.
"'Bofe eyes red, en you look like you mighty weak, Brer
Tarrypin,' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'Lor', Brer Fox, you dunner w'at trubble is,' sez Brer Tarrypin,
sezee.
"'W'at ail you now, Brer Tarrypin?' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'Tuck a walk de udder day, en man come long en sot de fiel'
a-fier. Lor', Brer Fox, you dunner w'at trubble is,' sez Brer
Tarrypin, sezee.
"'How you git out de fier, Brer Tarrypin?' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'Sot en tuck it, Brer Fox,' sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee. 'Sot en
tuck it, en de smoke sif' in my eye, en de fier scorch my back,'
sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee.
"'Likewise hit bu'n yo' tail off,' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'Oh, no, dar's de tail, Brer Fox,' sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee, en
wid dat he oncurl his tail fum under de shell, en no sooner did
he do dat dan Brer Fox grab it, en holler out:
"'Oh, yes, Brer Tarrypin! Oh, yes! En so you er de man w'at lam
me on de head at Miss Meadows's is you? You er in wid Brer
Rabbit, is you? Well, I'm gwineter out you.'
"Brer Tarrypin beg en beg, but 'twan't no use. Brer Fox done been
fool so much dat he look like he termin' fer ter have Brer
Tarrypin haslett. Den Brer Tarrypin beg Brer Fox not fer ter
drown 'im, but Brer Fox ain't makin' no prommus, en den he beg
Brer Fox fer ter bu'n' 'im, kase he done useter fier, but Brer
Fox don't say nuthin'. Bimeby Brer Fox drag Brer Tarrypin off
little ways b'low de spring-'ouse, en souze him under de water.
Den Brer Tarrypin begin fer ter holler:
"'Tu'n loose dat stump root en ketch holt er me--tu'n loose dat
stump root en ketch holt er me.'
"Brer Fox he holler back:
"'I ain't got holt er no stump root, en I is got holt er you.'
"Brer Tarrypin he keep on holler'n:
"'Ketch holt er me--I'm a drownin'--I'm a drownin'--tu'n loose de
stump root en ketch holt er me.'
"Sho nuff, Brer Fox tu'n loose de tail, en Brer Tarrypin, he went
down ter de bottom--kerblunkity-blink!"
No typographical combination or description could do justice to
the guttural sonorousness--the peculiar intonation--which Uncle
Remus imparted to this combination. It was so peculiar, indeed,
that the little boy asked:
"How did he go to the bottom, Uncle Remus?"
"Kerblunkity-blink!"
"Was he drowned, Uncle Remus?"
"Who? Ole man Tarrypin? Is you drowndid w'en yo' ma tucks you
in de bed?"
"Well, no," replied the little boy, dubiously.
"Ole man Tarrypin 'wuz at home I tell you, honey. Kerblinkity-
blunk!"
XIII. THE AWFUL FATE OF MR. WOLF
UNCLE REMUS was half-soling one of his shoes, and his Miss
Sally's little boy had been handling his awls, his hammers, and
his knives to such an extent that the old man was compelled to
assume a threatening attitude; but peace reigned again, and the
little boy perched himself on a chair, watching Uncle Remus
driving in pegs.
"Folks w'at's allers pesterin' people, en bodderin' 'longer dat
w'at ain't der'n, don't never come ter no good een'. Dar wuz Brer
Wolf; stidder mindin' un his own bizness, he hatter take en go in
pardnerships wid Brer Fox, en dey want skacely a minnit in de day
dat he want atter Brer Rabbit, en he kep' on en kep' on twel fus'
news you knowed he got kotch up wid--en he got kotch up wid
monstus bad."
"Goodness, Uncle Remus! I thought the Wolf let the Rabbit alone,
after he tried to fool him about the Fox being dead."
"Better lemme tell dish yer my way. Bimeby hit'll be yo' bed
time, en Miss Sally'll be a hollerin' atter you, en you'll be a
whimplin' roun', en den Mars John'll fetch up de re'r wid dat ar
strop w'at I made fer im."
The child laughed, and playfully shook his fist in the simple,
serious face of the venerable old darkey, but said no more. Uncle
Remus waited awhile to be sure there was to be no other
demonstration, and then proceeded:
"Brer Rabbit ain't see no peace w'atsumever. He can't leave home
'cep' Brer Wolf 'ud make a raid en tote off some er de fambly.
Brer Rabbit b'ilt 'im a straw house, en hit wuz tored down; den
he made a house out'n pine-tops, en dat went de same way; den he
made 'im a bark house, en dat wuz raided on, en eve'y time he
los' a house he los' one er his chilluns. Las' Brer Rabbit got
mad, he did, en cusst, en den he went off, he did, en got some
kyarpinters, en dey b'ilt 'im a plank house wid rock foundashuns.
Atter dat he could have some peace en quietness. He could go out
en pass de time er day 'wid his neighbors, en come back en set by
de fier, en smoke his pipe, en read de newspapers same like enny
man w'at got a fambly. He made a hole, he did, in de cellar whar
de little Rabbits could hide out w'en dar wuz much uv a racket in
de neighborhood, en de latch er de front do' kotch on de inside.
Brer Wolf, he see how de lan' lay, he did, en he lay low. De
little Rabbits was mighty skittish, but hit got so dat col'
chills ain't run up Brer Rabbit's back no mo' w'en he heerd Brer
Wolf go gallopin' by.
"Bimeby, one day w'en Brer Rabbit wuz fixin' fer ter call on Miss
Coon, he heerd a monstrus fuss en clatter up de big road, en
'mos' 'fo' he could fix his years fer ter lissen, Brer Wolf run
in de do'. De little Rabbits dey went inter dere hole in de
cellar, dey did, like blowin' out a cannle. Brer Wolf Wuz far'ly
kivver'd wid mud, en mighty nigh outer win'.
"'Oh, do pray save me, Brer Rabbit!' sez Brer Wolf, sezee. 'Do
please, Brer Rabbit! de dogs is atter me, en dey 'll t'ar me up.
Don't you year um comin'? Oh, do please save me, Brer Rabbit!
Hide me some'rs whar de dogs won't git me.'
"No quicker sed dan done.
"'Jump in dat big chist dar, Brer Wolf,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee;
'jump in dar en make yo'se'f at home.'
"In jump Brer Wolf, down come the led, en inter de hasp went de
hook, en dar Mr. Wolf wuz. Den Brer Rabbit went ter de lookin'-
glass, he did, en wink at hisse'f, en den he draw'd de rockin'-
cheer in front er de fier, he did, en tuck a big chaw terbacker."
"Tobacco, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy, incredulously.
"Rabbit terbacker, honey. You know dis yer life ev'lastin' w'at
Miss Sally puts 'mong de cloze in de trunk; well, dat's rabbit
terbacker. Den Brer Rabbit sot dar long time, he did, turnin' his
mine over en wukken his thinkin' masheen. Bimeby he got up, en
sorter stir 'roun'. Den Brer Wolf open up:
"'Is de dogs all gone, Brer Rabbit?'
"'Seem like I hear one un um smellin' roun' de chimbly-cornder
des now.'
"Den Brer Rabbit git de kittle en fill it full er water, en put
it on de fier.
"'W'at you doin' now, Brer Rabbit?'
"'I'm fixin fer ter make you a nice cup er tea, Brer Wolf.'
"Den Brer Rabbit went ter de cubberd en git de gimlet, en
commence for ter bo' little holes in de chist-lid.
"'W'at you doin' now, Brer Rabbit?'
"'I'm bo'in' little holes so you kin get bref, Brer Wolf.'
"Den Brer Rabbit went out en git some mo' wood, en fling it on de
fier.
"'W'at you doin' now, Brer Rabbit?'
"'I'm a chunkin' up de fier so you won't git col', Brer Wolf.'
"Den Brer Rabbit went down inter de cellar en fotch out all his
chilluns.
"'W'at you doin' now, Brer Rabbit?'
"'I'm a tellin' my chilluns w'at a nice man you is, Brer Wolf.'
"En de chilluns, dey had ter put der han's on der moufs fer ter
keep fum laffin'. Den Brer Rabbit he got de kittle en commenced
fer to po' de hot water on de chist-lid.
"'W'at dat I hear, Brer Rabbit?'
"'You hear de win' a blowin', Brer Wolf.'
"Den de water begin fer ter sif' thoo.
"'W'at dat I feel, Brer Rabbit?'
"'You feels de fleas a bitin', Brer Wolf.'
"'Dey er bitin' mighty hard, Brer Rabbit.'
"'Tu'n over on de udder side, Brer Wolf.'
"'W'at dat I feel now, Brer Rabbit?'
"'Still you feels de fleas, Brer Wolf.'
"'Dey er eatin' me up, Brer Rabbit,' en dem wuz de las words er
Brer Wolf, kase de scaldin' water done de bizness.
"Den Brer Rabbit call in his neighbors, he did, en dey hilt a
reg'lar juberlee; en ef you go ter Brer Rabbit's house right now,
I dunno but w'at you'll fine Brer Wolfs hide hangin' in de back-
po'ch, en all bekaze he wuz so bizzy wid udder fo'kses doin's."
XIV. MR. FOX AND THE DECEITFUL FROGS
WHEN the little boy ran in to see Uncle Remus the night after he
had told him of the awful fate of Brer Wolf, the only response to
his greeting was:
"I-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker!"
No explanation could convey an adequate idea of the intonation
and pronunciation which Uncle Remus brought to bear upon this
wonderful word. Those who can recall to mind the peculiar
gurgling, jerking, liquid sound made by pouring water from a
large jug, or the sound produced by throwing several stones in
rapid succession into a pond of deep water, may be able to form a
very faint idea of the sound, but it can not be reproduced in
print. The little boy was astonished.
"What did you say, Uncle Remus?"
"I-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker! I-doom-er-ker-kum mer-ker!"
"What is that?"
"Dat's Tarrypin talk, dat is. Bless yo' soul, honey," continued
the old man, brightening up, "w'en you git ole ez me--w'en you
see w'at I sees, en year w'at I years--de creeturs dat you can't
talk wid'll be mighty skase--dey will dat. W'y, der's er old gray
rat w'at uses 'bout yer, en time atter time he comes out w'en you
all done gone ter bed en sets up dar in de cornder en dozes, en
me en him talks by de 'our; en w'at dat old rat dunno ain't down
in de spellin' book. Des now, w'en you run in and broke me up, I
wuz fetchin' into my mine w'at Brer Tarrypin say ter Brer Fox
w'en he turn 'im loose in de branch."
"What did he say, Uncle Remus?"
"Dat w'at he said--I-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker! Brer Tarrypin wuz
at de bottom er de pon', en he talk back, he did, in bubbles--I-
doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker! Brer Fox, he ain't sayin' nuthin', but
Brer Bull-Frog, settin' on de bank, he hear Brer Tarrypin, he
did, en he holler back:
"Jug-er-rum-kum-dum! Jug-er-rum-kum-dum!'
"Den Brer Frog holler out: 'Knee-deep! Knee-deep!'
"Den ole Brer Bull-Frog, he holler back: 'Don'-you-ber-lieve-'im!
Don't-you-ber-lieve-'im!'
"Den de bubbles come up fum Brer Tarrypin: 'I-doom-er-ker-kum-
mer-ker!'
"Den Brer Frog sing out: 'Wade in! Wade in!'
"Den ole Brer Bull-Frog talk thoo his ho'seness: 'Dar-you'll-
fine-yo'-brudder! Dar-you'll-fine-yo'-brudder!'
"Sho nuff, Brer Fox look over de bank, he did, en dar wuz n'er
Fox lookin' at 'im outer de water. Den he retch out fer ter shake
han's, en in he went, heels over head, en Brer Tarrypin bubble
out:
"'I-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker!"'
"Was the Fox drowned, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy.
"He weren't zackly drowndid, honey," replied the old man, With an
air of cautious reserve. "He did manage fer ter scramble out, but
a little mo' en de Mud Turkle would er got 'im, en den he'd er
bin made hash un worl' widout een'."
XV. MR. FOX GOES A-HUNTING, BUT MR. RABBIT BAGS THE GAME
"ATTER Brer Fox hear 'bout how Brer Rabbit done Brer Wolf,"
said Uncle Remus, scratching his head with the point of his awl,
'he 'low, he did, dat he better not be so brash, en he sorter let
Brer Rabbit 'lone. Dey wuz all time seein' one nudder, en
'bunnunce er times Brer Fox could er nab Brer Rabbit, but eve'y
time he got de chance, his mine 'ud sorter rezume 'bout Brer
Wolf, en he let Brer Rabbit 'lone. Bimeby dey 'gun ter git kinder
familious wid wunner nudder like dey useter, en it got so Brer
Fox'd call on Brer Rabbit, en dey'd set up en smoke der pipes,
dey would, like no ha'sh feelin's 'd ever rested 'twixt um.
"Las', one day Brer Fox come 'long all rig out, en ax Brer Rabbit
fer ter go huntin' wid 'im, but Brer Rabbit, he sorter feel lazy,
en he tell Brer Fox dat he got some udder fish fer ter fry. Brer
Fox feel mighty sorry, he did, but he say he bleeve he try his
han' enny how, en off he put. He wuz gone all day, en he had a
monstus streak er luck, Brer Fox did, en he bagged a sight er
game. Bimeby, to'rds de shank er de evenin', Brer Rabbit sorter
stretch hisse'f, he did, en 'low hit's mos' time fer Brer Fox fer
ter git 'long home. Den Brer Rabbit, he went'n mounted a stump
fer ter see ef he could year Brer Fox comin'. He ain't bin dar
long, twel sho' enuff, yer come Brer Fox thoo de woods, singing
like a nigger at a frolic. Brer Rabbit, he lipt down off'n de
stump, he did, en lay down in de road en make like he dead. Brer
Fox he come 'long, he did, en see Brer Rabbit layin' dar. He tu'n
'im over, he did, en 'zamine 'im, en say, sezee:
"'Dish yer rabbit dead. He look like he bin dead long time. He
dead, but he mighty fat. He de fattes' rabbit w'at I ever see,
but he bin dead too long. I feard ter take 'im home,' sezee.
"Brer Rabbit ain't sayin' nuthin'. Brer Fox, he sorter lick his
chops, but he went on en lef' Brer Rabbit layin' in de road.
Dreckly he wuz outer sight, Brer Rabbit, he jump up, he did, en
run roun' thoo de Woods en git befo Brer Fox agin. Brer Fox, he
come up, en dar lay Brer Rabbit, periently col' en stiff. Brer
Fox, he look at Brer Rabbit, en he sorter study. Atter while he
onslung his game-bag, en say ter hisse'f, sezee:
"'Deze yer rabbits gwine ter was'e. I'll des 'bout leave my game
yer, en I'll go back'n git dat udder rabbit, en I'll make fokes
b'leeve dat I'm ole man Hunter fum Huntsville,' sezee.
"En wid dat he drapt his game en loped back up de road atter de
udder rabbit, en w'en he got outer sight, ole Brer Rabbit, he
snatch up Brer Fox game en put out fer home. Nex' time he see
Brer Fox he holler out:
"'What you kill de udder day, Brer Fox?' sezee.
"Den Brer Fox, he sorter koam his flank wid his tongue, en holler
back:
"'I kotch a han'ful er hard sense, Brer Rabbit,' sezee.
"Den ole Brer Rabbit, he laff, he did, en up en 'spon', sezee:
'Ef I'd a know'd you wuz atter dat, Brer Fox, I'd a loant you
some er mine,' sezee."
XVI. OLD MR. RABBIT, HE'S A GOOD FISHERMAN
"BRER RABBIT en Brer Fox wuz like some chilluns w'at I knows
un," said Uncle Remus, regarding the little boy, who had come to
hear another story, with an affectation of great solemnity. "Bofe
un um wuz allers atter wunner nudder, a prankin' en a pesterin'
'roun', but Brer Rabbit did had some peace, kaze Brer Fox done
got skittish 'bout puttin' de clamps on Brer Rabbit.
"One day, w'en Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox, en Brer Coon, en Brer
B'ar, en a whole lot un um wuz clearin' up a new groun' fer ter
plant a roas'n'-year patch, de sun gun ter git sorter hot, en
Brer Rabbit he got tired; but he didn't let on, kaze he fear'd de
balance un um'd call 'im lazy, en he keep on totin' off trash en
pilin' up bresh, twel bimeby he holler out dat he gotter brier in
his han', en den he take'n slip off, en hunt fer cool place fer
ter res'. Atter w'ile he come crosst a well wid a bucket hangin'
in it.
"'Dat look cool,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'en cool I speck she
is. I'll des 'bout git in dar en take a nap,' en wid dat in he
jump, he did, en he ain't no sooner fix hisse'f dan de bucket
'gun ter go down."
"Wasn't the Rabbit scared, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy.
"Honey, dey ain't been no wusser skeer'd beas' sence de worl'
begin dan dish yer same Brer Rabbit. He fa'rly had a agur. He
know whar he cum fum, but he dunner whar he gwine. Dreckly he
feel de bucket hit de water, en dar she sot, but Brer Rabbit he
keep mighty still, kaze he dunner w'at minnit gwineter be de
nex'. He des lay dar en shuck en shiver.
"Brer Fox allers got one eye on Brer Rabbit, en w'en he slip off
fum de new groun', Brer Fox he sneak atter 'im. He know Brer
Rabbit wuz atter some projick er nudder, en he tuck'n crope off,
he did, en watch 'im. Brer Fox see Brer Rabbit come to de well en
stop, en den he see 'im jump in de bucket, en den, lo en behol's,
he see 'im go down outer sight. Brer Fox wuz de mos' 'stonish Fox
dat you ever laid eyes on. He sot off dar in de bushes en study
en study, but he don't make no head ner tails ter dis kinder
bizness. Den he say ter hisse'f, sezee:
"'Well, ef dis don't bang my times,' sezee, 'den Joe's dead en
Sal's a widder. Right down dar in dat well Brer Rabbit keep his
money hid, en ef 'tain't dat den he done gone en 'skiver'd a
gole-mine, en ef 'tain't dat, den I'm a gwineter see w'at's in
dar,' sezee.
"Brer Fox crope up little nigher, he did, en lissen, but he don't
year no fuss, en he keep on gittin' nigher, en yit he don't year
nuthin'. Bimeby he git up close en peep down, but he don't see
nuthin' en he don't year nuthin'. All dis time Brer Rabbit mighty
nigh skeer'd outen his skin, en he fear'd fer ter move kaze de
bucket might keel over en spill him out in de water. W'ile he
sayin' his pra'rs over like a train er kyars runnin', ole Brer
Fox holler out:
"'Heyo, Brer Rabbit! Who you wizzitin' down dar?' sezee.
"'Who? Me? Oh, I'm des a fishin', Brer Fox,' sez Brer Rabbit,
sezee. 'I des say ter myse'f dat I'd sorter sprize you all wid a
mess er fishes fer dinner, en so here I is, en dar's de fishes.
I'm a fishin' fer suckers, Brer Fox,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'Is dey many un um down dar, Brer Rabbit?' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'Lots un um, Brer Fox; scoze en scoze un um. De water is
natchully 'live wid um. Come down en he'p me haul um in, Brer
Fox,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'How I gwineter git down, Brer Rabbit?'
"'Jump inter de bucket, Brer Fox. Hit'll fetch you down all safe
en soun'.'
"Brer Rabbit talk so happy en talk so sweet dat Brer Fox he jump
in de bucket, he did, en, ez he went down, co'se his weight pull
Brer Rabbit up. W'en dey pass one nudder on de half-way growl',
Brer Rabbit he sing out:
"'Good-by, Brer Fox, take keer yo' cloze,
Fer dis is de way de worl' goes;
Some goes up en some goes down,
You'll git ter de bottom all safe en soun'.' *1
"W'en Brer Rabbit got out, he gallop off en tole de fokes w'at de
well blong ter dat Brer Fox wuz down in dar muddyin' up de
drinkin' water, en den he gallop back ter de well, en holler down
ter Brer Fox:
"'Ye come a man wid a great big gun--W'en he haul you up, you
jump en run."'
"What then, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy, as the old man
paused.
"In des 'bout half 'n hour, honey, bofe un um wuz back in de new
groun' wukkin' des like dey never heer'd er no well, ceppin' dat
eve'y now'n den Brer Rabbit'd bust out in er laff, en old Brer
Fox, he'd git a spell er de dry grins."
*1 As a Northern friend suggests that this story may be somewhat
obscure, it may be as well to state that the well is supposed
to be supplied with a rope over a wheel, or pulley, with a
bucket at each end.
XVII. MR. RABBIT NIBBLES UP THE BUTTER
'"DE animils en de creeturs," said Uncle Remus, shaking his
coffee around in the bottom of his tin-cup, in order to gather up
all the sugar, 'dey kep' on gittin' mo' en mo' familious wid
wunner nudder, twel bimeby, 'twan't long 'fo' Brer Rabbit, en
Brer Fox, en Brer Possum got ter sorter bunchin' der perwishuns
tergedder in de same shanty. Atter w'ile de roof sorter 'gun ter
leak, en one day Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox, en Brer Possum,
'semble fer ter see ef dey can't kinder patch her up. Dey had a
big day's work in front un um, en dey fotch der dinner wid um.
Dey lump de vittles up in one pile, en de butter w'at Brer Fox
brung, dey goes en puts in de spring-'ouse fer ter keep cool, en
den dey went ter wuk, en 'twan't long 'fo' Brer Rabbit's stummuck
'gun ter sorter growl en pester 'im. Dat butter er Brer Fox sot
heavy on his mine, en his mouf water eve'y time he 'member 'bout
it. Present'y he say ter hisse'f dat he bleedzd ter have a nip at
dat butter, en den he lay his plans, he did. Fus' news you know,
w'ile dey wuz all wukkin' long, Brer Rabbit raise his head quick
en fling his years forerd en holler out:
"'Here I is. W'at you want wid me?' en off he put like sump'n wuz
atter 'im.
"He sallied 'roun', ole Brer Rabbit did, en atter he make sho dat
nobody ain't foller'n un 'im, inter de spring-'ouse he bounces,
en dar he stays twel he git a bait er butter. Den he santer on
back en go to wuk.
"'Whar you bin?' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'I hear my chilluns callin' me,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'en I
hatter go see w'at dey want. My ole 'oman done gone en tuck
mighty sick,' sezee.
"Dey wuk on twel bimeby de butter tas'e so good dat ole Brer
Rabbit want some mo'. Den he raise up his head, he did, en holler
out:
"'Heyo! Hol' on! I'm a comin'!' en off he put.
"Dis time he stay right smart w'ile, en w'en he git back Brer Fox
ax him whar he bin.
"'I been ter see my ole 'oman, en she's a sinkin',' sezee.
"Dreckly Brer Rabbit hear um callin' 'im ag'in en off he goes, en
dis time, bless yo' soul, he gits de butter out so clean dat he
kin see hisse'f in de bottom er de bucket. He scrape it clean en
lick it dry, en den he go back ter wuk lookin' mo' samer dan a
nigger w'at de patter-rollers bin had holt un.
"'How's yo' ole 'oman dis time?' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'I'm oblije ter you, Brer Fox,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'but I'm
fear'd she's done gone by now,' en dat sorter make Brer Fox en
Brer Possum feel in mo'nin' wid Brer Rabbit.
"Bimeby, w'en dinner-time come, dey all got out der vittles, but
Brer Rabbit keep on lookin' lonesome, en Brer Fox en Brer Possum
dey sorter rustle roun' fer ter see ef dey can't make Brer Rabbit
feel sorter splimmy."
"What is that, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy.
"Sorter splimmy-splammy, honey--sorter like he in a crowd--sorter
like his ole 'oman ain't dead ez she mout be. You know how fokes
duz w'en dey gits whar people's a moanin'."
The little boy didn't know, fortunately for him, and Uncle Remus
went on:
"Brer Fox en Brer Possum rustle roun', dey did, gittin out de
vittles, en bimeby Brer Fox, he say, sezee:
"'Brer Possum, you run down ter de spring en fetch de butter, en
I'll sail 'roun' yer en set de table,' sezee.
"Brer Possum, he lope off atter de butter, en dreckly here he
come lopin' back wid his years a trimblin' en his tongue a
hangin' out. Brer Fox, he holler out:
"'W'at de matter now, Brer Possum?' sezee.
"'You all better run yer, fokes,' sez Brer Possum, sezee. 'De
las' drap er dat butter done gone!'
"'Whar she gone?' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'Look like she dry up,' sez Brer Possum, sezee.
"Den Brer Rabbit, he look sorter sollum, he did, en he up'n say,
sezee.
"'I speck dat butter melt in somebody mouf,' sezee. Den dey went
down ter de spring wid Brer Possum, en sho nuff de butter done
gone. W'iles dey wuz sputin' over de wunderment, Brer Rabbit say
he see tracks all 'roun' dar, en he p'int out dat ef dey'll all
go ter sleep, he kin ketch de chap w'at stole de butter. Den dey
all lie down en Brer Fox en Brer Possum dey soon drapt off ter
sleep, but Brer Rabbit he stay 'wake, en w'en de time come he
raise up easy en smear Brer Possum mouf wid de butter on his
paws, en den he run off en nibble up de bes' er de dinner w'at
dey lef' layin' out, en den he come back en wake up Brer Fox, en
show 'im de butter on Brer Possum mouf. Den dey wake up Brer
Possum, en tell 'im 'bout it, but c'ose Brer Possum 'ny it ter de
las'. Brer Fox, dough, he's a kinder lawyer, en he argafy dis
way--dat Brer Possum wuz de fus one at de butter, en de fus one
fer ter miss it, en mo'n dat, dar hang de signs on his mouf. Brer
Possum see dat dey got 'im jammed up in a cornder, en den he up
en say dat de way fer ter ketch de man w'at stole de butter is
ter b'il' a big bresh-heap en set her afier, en all han's try ter
jump over, en de one w'at fall in, den he de chap w'at stole de
butter. Brer Rabbit en Brer Fox dey is bofe 'gree, dey did, en
dey whirl in en b'il' de breshheap, en dey b'il' her high en dey
b'il' her wide, en den dey totch her off. W'en she got ter
blazin' up good, Brer Rabbit, he tuck de fus turn. He sorter step
back, en look 'roun' en giggle, en over he went mo' samer dan a
bird flyin'. Den come Brer Fox. He got back little fudder, en
spit on his han's, en lit out en made de jump, en he come so nigh
gittin' in dat de een' er his tail kotch afier. Ain't you never
see no fox, honey?" inquired Uncle Remus, in a tone that implied
both conciliation and information.
The little boy thought probably he had, but he wouldn't commit
himself.
"Well, den," continued the old man, "nex' time you see one un um,
you look right close en see ef de een' er his tail ain't w'ite.
Hit's des like I tell you. Dey b'ars de skyar er dat bresh-heap
down ter dis day. Dey er marked--dat's w'at dey is--dey er
marked."
"And what about Brother Possum?" asked the little boy.
"Ole Brer Possum, he tuck a runnin' start, he did, en he come
lumberin' 'long, en he lit--kerblam!--right in de middle er de
fier, en dat wuz de las' er ole Brer Possum."
"But, Uncle Remus, Brother Possum didn't steal the butter after
all," said the little boy, who was not at all satisfied with such
summary injustice.
"Dat w'at make I say w'at I duz, honey. In dis worl', lots er
fokes is gotter suffer fer udder fokes sins. Look like hit's
mighty wrong; but hit's des dat away. Tribbalashun seem like
she's a waitin' roun' de cornder fer ter ketch one en all un us,
honey."
XVIII. MR. RABBIT FINDS HIS MATCH AT LAST
"HIT look like ter me dat I let on de udder night dat in dem days
w'en de creeturs wuz santer'n 'roun' same like fokes, none un um
wuz brash nuff fer ter ketch up wid Brer Rabbit," remarked Uncle
Remus, reflectively.
"Yes," replied the little boy, "that's what you said."
"Well, den," continued the old man with unction, "dar's whar my
'membunce gin out, kaze Brer Rabbit did git kotched up wid, en
hit cool 'im off like po'in' spring water on one er deze yer
biggity fices."
"How was that, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy.
"One day w'en Brer Rabbit wuz gwine lippity-clippitin' down de
road, he meet up wid ole Brer Tarrypin, en atter dey pass de time
er day wid wunner nudder, Brer Rabbit, he 'low dat he wuz much
'blije ter Brer Tarrypin fer de han' he tuck in de rumpus dat day
down at Miss Meadows's."
"When he dropped off of the water-shelf on the Fox's head,"
suggested the little boy.
"Dat's de same time, honey. Den Brer Tarrypin 'low dat Brer Fox
run mighty fas' dat day, but dat ef he'd er bin atter 'im stidder
Brer Rabbit, he'd er kotch 'im. Brer Rabbit say he could er kotch
'im hisse'f but he didn't keer 'bout leavin' de ladies. Dey keep
on talkin', dey did, twel bimeby dey gotter 'sputin' 'bout w'ich
wuz de swif'es'. Brer Rabbit, he say he kin outrun Brer Tarrypin,
en Brer Tarrypin, he des vow dat he kin outrun Brer Rabbit. Up en
down dey had it, twel fus news you know Brer Tarrypin say he got
a fifty-dollar bill in de chink er de chimbly at home, en dat
bill done tole 'im dat he could beat Brer Rabbit in a fa'r race.
Den Brer Rabbit say he got a fifty-dollar bill w'at say dat he
kin leave Brer Tarrypin so fur behime, dat he could sow barley ez
he went long en hit 'ud be ripe nuff fer ter cut by de time Brer
Tarrypin pass dat way.
"Enny how dey make de bet en put up de money, en old Brer Tukkey
Buzzard, he wuz summonzd fer ter be de jedge, en de stakeholder;
en 'twan't long 'fo' all de 'rangements wuz made. De race wuz a
five-mile heat, en de groun' wuz medjud off, en at de een' er
eve'y mile a pos' wuz stuck up. Brer Rabbit wuz ter run down de
big road, en Brer Tarrypin, he say he'd gallup thoo de woods.
Fokes tole 'im he could git long faster in de road, but ole Brer
Tarrypin, he know w'at he doin'. Miss Meadows en de gals en mos'
all de nabers got win' er de fun, en wen de day wuz sot dey
'termin' fer ter be on han'. Brer Rabbit he train hisse'f eve'y
day, en he skip over de groun' des ez gayly ez a June cricket.
Ole Brer Tarrypin, he lay low in de swamp. He had a wife en th'ee
chilluns, old Brer Tarrypin did, en dey wuz all de ve'y spit en
image er de ole man. Ennybody w'at know one fum de udder gotter
take a spy-glass, en den dey er li'ble fer ter git fooled.
"Dat's de way marters stan' twel de day er de race, en on dat
day, ole Brer Tarrypin, en his ole 'oman, en his th'ee chilluns,
dey got up 'fo' sun-up, en went ter de place. De ole 'oman, she
tuck 'er stan' nigh de fus' mile-pos', she did, en de chilluns
nigh de udders, up ter de las', en dar old Brer Tarrypin, he tuck
his stan'. Bimeby, here come de fokes: Jedge Buzzard, he come, en
Miss Meadows en de gals, dey come, en den yer come Brer Rabbit
wid ribbons tied 'roun' his neck en streamin' fum his years. De
fokes all went ter de udder een' er de track fer ter see how dey
come out. W'en de time come Jedge Buzzard strut 'roun' en pull
out his watch, en holler out:
"'Gents, is you ready?'
"Brer Rabbit, he say 'yes,' en old Miss Tarrypin holler 'go' fum
de aidge er de woods. Brer Rabbit, he lit out on de race, en old
Miss Tarrypin, she put out for home. Jedge Buzzard, he riz en
skimmed long fer ter see dat de race wuz runned fa'r. W'en Brer
Rabbit got ter de fus' mile-pos' wunner de Tarrypin chilluns
crawl out de woods, he did, en make fer de place. Brer Rabbit, he
holler out:
"'Whar is you, Brer Tarrypin?'
"'Yer I come a bulgin',' sez de Tarrypin, sezee.
"Brer Rabbit so glad he's ahead dat he put out harder dan ever,
en de Tarrypin, he make fer home. W'en he come ter de nex' pos',
nudder Tarrypin crawl out er de woods.
"'Whar is you, Brer Tarrypin?' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'Yer I come a bilin',' sez de Tarrypin, sezee.
"Brer Rabbit, he lit out, he did, en come ter nex' pos', en dar
wuz de Tarrypin. Den he come ter nex', en dar wuz de Tarrypin.
Den he had one mo' mile fer ter run, en he feel like he gittin'
bellust. Bimeby, ole Brer Tarrypin look way off down de road en
he see Jedge Buzzard sailin' long en he know hit's time fer 'im
fer ter be up. So he scramble outen de woods, en roll 'cross de
ditch, en shuffle thoo de crowd er folks en git ter de mile-pos'
en crawl behime it. Bimeby, fus' news you know, yer come Brer
Rabbit. He look 'roun' en he don't see Brer Tarrypin, en den he
squall out:
"'Gimme de money, Brer Buzzard, Gimme de money!'
"Den Miss Meadows en de gals, dey holler and laff fit ter kill
deyse'f, en ole Brer Tarrypin, he raise up fum behime de
pos' en sez, sezee:
"'Ef you'll gimme time fer ter ketch my breff, gents en ladies,
one en all, I speck I'll finger dat money myse'f,' sezee, en sho
nuff, Brer Tarrypin tie de pu's 'roun' his neck en skaddle*1 off
home."
"But, Uncle Remus," said the little boy, dolefully, "that was
cheating."
"Co'se, honey. De creeturs 'gun ter cheat, en den fokes tuck it
up, en hit keep on spreadin'. Hit mighty ketchin', en you mine
yo' eye, honey, dat somebody don't cheat you 'fo' yo' ha'r git
gray ez de ole nigger's."
*1 It may he interesting to note here that in all probability the
word "skedaddle," about which there was some controversy during
the war, came from the Virginia negro's use of "skaddle," which
is a corruption of "scatter." The matter, however, is hardly
worth referring to.
XIX. THE FATE OF MR. JACK SPARROW
"You'll tromple on dat bark twel hit won't be fitten fer ter
fling 'way, let 'lone make hoss-collars out'n," said Uncle Remus,
as the little boy came running into his cabin out of the rain.
All over the floor long strips of "wahoo" bark were spread, and
these the old man was weaving into horse-collars.
"I'll sit down, Uncle Remus," said the little boy.
"Well, den, you better, honey," responded the old man, "kaze I
'spizes fer ter have my wahoo trompled on. Ef 'twuz shucks, now,
hit mout be diffunt, but I'm a gittin' too ole fer ter be
projickin' 'longer shuck collars."
For a few minutes the old man went on with his work, but with a
solemn air altogether unusual. Once or twice he sighed deeply,
and the sighs ended in a prolonged groan, that seemed to the
little boy to be the result of the most unspeakable mental agony.
He knew by experience that he had done something which failed to
meet the approval of Uncle Remus, and he tried to remember what
it was, so as to frame an excuse; but his memory failed him. He
could think of nothing he had done calculated to stir Uncle
Remus's grief. He was not exactly seized with remorse, but he was
very uneasy. Presently Uncle Remus looked at him in a sad and
hopeless way and asked:
"W'at dat long rigmarole you bin tellin' Miss Sally 'bout yo'
little brer dis mawnin?"
"Which, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy, blushing guiltily.
"Dat des w'at I'm a axin' un you now. I hear Miss Sally say she's
a gwineter stripe his jacket, en den I knowed you bin tellin' on
'im."
"Well, Uncle Remus, he was pulling up your onions, and then he
went and flung a rock at me, said the child, plaintively.
"Lemme tell you dis," said the old man, laying down the section
of horse-collar he had been plaiting, and looking hard at the
little boy--"lemme tell you dis der ain't no way fer ter make
tattlers en tailb'arers turn out good. No, dey ain't. I bin
mixin' up wid fokes now gwine on eighty year, en I ain't seed no
tattler come ter no good een'. Dat I ain't. En ef ole man
M'thoozlum wuz livin' clean twel yit, he'd up'n tell you de same.
Sho ez you er settin' dar. You 'member w'at 'come er de bird w'at
went tattlin' 'roun' 'bout Brer Rabbit?"
The little boy didn't remember, but he was very anxious to know,
and he also wanted to know what kind of a bird it was that so
disgraced itself.
"Hit wuz wunner dese yer uppity little Jack Sparrers, I speck,"
said the old man; "dey wuz allers bodder'n' longer udder
fokes's bizness, en dey keeps at it down ter dis day--peckin'
yer, en pickin' dar, en scratchin' out yander. One day, atter he
bin fool by ole Brer Tarrypin, Brer Rabbit wuz settin' down in de
woods studyin' how he wuz gwineter git even. He feel mighty
lonesome, en he feel mighty mad, Brer Rabbit did. Tain't put down
in de tale, but I speck he cusst en r'ar'd 'roun' considerbul.
Leas'ways, he wuz settin' out dar by hisse'f, en dar he sot, en
study en study, twel bimeby he jump up en holler out:
"'Well, dog-gone my cats ef I can't gallop 'roun' ole Brer Fox,
en I'm gwineter do it. I'll show Miss Meadows en de gals dat I'm
de boss er Brer Fox,' sezee.
"Jack Sparrer up in de tree, he hear Brer Rabbit, he did, en he
sing out:
"'I'm gwine tell Brer Fox! I'm gwine tell Brer Fox!
Chick-a-biddy-win'-a-blowin'-acuns-fallin'! I'm gwine tell Brer
Fox!"'
Uncle Remus accompanied the speech of the bird with a peculiar
whistling sound in his throat, that was a marvelous imitation of
a sparrow's chirp, and the little boy clapped his hands with
delight, and insisted on a repetition.
"Dis kinder tarrify Brer Rabbit, en he skasely know w'at he gwine
do; but bimeby he study ter hisse'f dat de man w'at see Brer Fox
fus wuz boun' ter have de inturn, en den he go hoppin' off to'rds
home. He didn't got fur w'en who should he meet but Brer Fox, en
den Brer Rabbit, he open up:
"'W'at dis twix' you en me, Brer Fox?' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. 'I
hear tell you gwine ter sen' me ter 'struckshun, en nab my
fambly, en 'stroy my shanty,' sezee.
"'Den Brer Fox he git mighty mad. 'Who bin tellin' you all dis?'
sezee.
"Brer Rabbit make like he didn't want ter tell, but Brer Fox he
'sist en 'sist, twel at las' Brer Rabbit he up en tell Brer Fox
dat he hear Jack Sparrer say all dis.
"'Co'se,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'w'en Brer Jack Sparrer tell me
dat I flew up, I did, en I use some langwidge w'ich I'm mighty
glad dey weren't no ladies 'round' nowhars so dey could hear me
go on, sezee.
"Brer Fox he sorter gap, he did, en say he speck he better be
sa'nter'n on. But, bless yo' soul, honey, Brer Fox ain't sa'nter
fur, 'fo' Jack Sparrer flipp down on a 'simmon-bush by de side er
de road, en holler out:
"'Brer Fox! Oh, Brer Fox!--Brer Fox!'
"Brer Fox he des sorter canter long, he did, en make like he
don't hear 'im. Den Jack Sparrer up'n sing out agin:
"'Brer Fox! Oh, Brer Fox! Hol' on, Brer Fox! I got some news fer
you. Wait Brer Fox! Hit'll 'stonish you.'
"Brer Fox he make like he don't see Jack Sparrer, ner needer do
he hear 'im, but bimeby he lay down by de road, en sorter stretch
hisse'f like he fixin' fer ter nap. De tattlin' Jack Sparrer he
flew'd 'long, en keep on callin' Brer Fox, but Brer Fox, he ain't
sayin' nuthin'. Den little Jack Sparrer, he hop down on de groun'
en flutter 'roun' 'mongst de trash. Dis sorter 'track Brer Fox
'tenshun, en he look at de tattlin' bird, en de bird he keep on
callin':
"'I got sump'n fer ter tell you, Brer Fox.'
"'Git on my tail, little Jack Sparrer,' sez Brer Fox, sezee,
'kaze I'm de'f in one year, en I can't hear out'n de udder. Git
on my tail,' sezee.
"Den de little bird he up'n hop on Brer Fox's tail.
"'Git on my back, little Jack Sparrer, kaze I'm de'f in one year
en I can't hear out'n de udder.'
"Den de little bird hop on his back.
"'Hop on my head, little Jack Sparrer, kaze I'm de'f in bofe
years.'
"Up hop de little bird.
"'Hop on my toof, little Jack Sparrer, kaze I'm de'f in one year
en I can't hear out'n de udder.'
"De tattlin' little bird hop on Brer Fox's toof, en den--"
Here Uncle Remus paused, opened wide his mouth and closed it
again in a way that told the whole story. *1
"Did the Fox eat the bird all--all up?" asked the little boy.
"Jedge B'ar come long nex' day," replied Uncle Remus, "en he fine
some fedders, en fum dat word went roun' dat ole man Squinch
Owl done kotch nudder watzizname."
*1 An Atlanta friend heard this story in Florida, but an
alligator was substituted for the fox, and a little boy for
the rabbit. There is another version in which the impertinent
gosling goes to tell the fox something her mother has said,
and is caught; and there may be other versions. I have adhered
to the middle Georgia version, which is characteristic enough.
It may be well to state that there are different versions of
all the stories--the shrewd narrators of the mythology of the
old plantation adapting themselves with ready tact to the
years, tastes, and expectations of their juvenile audiences.
XX. HOW MR. RABBIT SAVED HIS MEAT
"ONE time," said Uncle Remus, whetting his knife slowly and
thoughtfully on the palm of his hand, and gazing reflectively in
the fire--"one time Brer Wolf--"
"Why, Uncle Remus!" the little boy broke in, "I thought you said
the Rabbit scalded the Wolf to death a long time ago."
The old man was fairly caught and he knew it; but this made
little difference to him. A frown gathered on his usually serene
brow as he turned his gaze upon the child--a frown in which both
scorn and indignation were visible. Then all at once he seemed to
regain control of himself. The frown was chased away by a look of
Christian resignation.
"Dar now! W'at I tell you?" he exclaimed as if addressing a
witness concealed under the bed. "Ain't I done tole you so? Bless
grashus! ef chilluns ain't gittin' so dey knows mo'n ole fokes,
en dey'll 'spute longer you en 'spute longer you, ceppin' der ma
call um, w'ich I speck 'twon't be long 'fo' she will, en den Ill
set yere by de chimbly-cornder en git some peace er mine. W'en
ole Miss wuz livin'," continued the old man, still addressing
some imaginary person, 'hit 'uz mo'n enny her chilluns 'ud dast
ter do ter come 'sputin' longer me, en Mars John'll tell you de
same enny day you ax 'im."
"Well, Uncle Remus, you know you said the Rabbit poured hot
water on the Wolf and killed him," said the little boy.
The old man pretended not to hear. He was engaged in searching
among some scraps of leather under his chair, and kept on talking
to the imaginary person. Finally, he found and drew forth a
nicely plaited whip-thong with a red snapper all waxed and
knotted.
"I wuz fixin' up a w'ip fer a little chap," he continued, with a
sigh, "but, bless grashus! 'fo' I kin git 'er done de little chap
done grow'd up twel he know mo'n I duz."
The child's eyes filled with tears and his lips began to quiver,
but he said nothing; whereupon Uncle Remus immediately melted.
"I 'clar' to goodness," he said, reaching out and taking the
little boy tenderly by the hand, "ef you ain't de ve'y spit en
image er ole Miss w'en I brung 'er de las' news er de war. Hit's
des like skeerin' up a ghos' w'at you ain't fear'd un."
Then there was a pause, the old man patting the little child's
hand caressingly.
"You ain't mad, is you, honey?" Uncle Remus asked finally, "kaze
ef you is, I'm gwine out yere en butt my head 'gin de do' jam'."
But the little boy wasn't mad. Uncle Remus had conquered him and
he had conquered Uncle Remus in pretty much the same way before.
But it was some time before Uncle Remus would go on with the
story. He had to be coaxed. At last, however, he settled himself
back in the chair and began:
"Co'se, honey, hit mout er bin ole Brer Wolf, er hit mout er bin
er n'er Brer Wolf; it mout er bin 'fo' he got kotch up wid, er it
mout er bin atterwards. Ez de tale wer gun to me des dat away I
gin it unter you. One time Brer Wolf wuz comm' long home fum a
fishin' frolic. He s'anter long de road, he did, wid his string
er fish 'cross his shoulder, w'en fus' news you know ole Miss
Pa'tridge, she hop outer de bushes en flutter long right at Brer
Wolf nose. Brer Wolf he say ter hisse'f dat ole Miss Pa'tridge
tryin' fer ter toll 'im 'way fum her nes', en wid dat he lay his
fish down en put out inter de bushes whar ole Miss Pa'tridge come
fum, en 'bout dat time Brer Rabbit, he happen long. Dar wuz de
fishes, en dar wuz Brer Rabbit, en w'en dat de case w'at you
speck a sorter innerpen'ent man like Brer Rabbit gwine do? I kin
tell you dis, dat dem fishes ain't stay whar Brer Wolf put um at,
en w'en Brer Wolf come back dey wuz gone.
"Brer Wolf, he sot down en scratch his head, he did, en study
en study, en den hit sorter rush inter his mine dat Brer Rabbit
bin 'long dar, en den Brer Wolf, he put out fer Brer Rabbit
house, en w'en he git dar he hail 'im. Brer Rabbit, he dunno
nuthin' tall 'bout no fishes. Brer Wolf he up'n say he bleedzd
ter bleeve Brer Rabbit got dem fishes. Brer Rabbit 'ny it up en
down, but Brer Wolf stan' to it dat Brer Rabbit got dem fishes.
Brer Rabbit, he say dat if Brer Wolf b'leeve he got de fishes,
den he give Brer Wolf lief fer ter kill de bes' cow he got. Brer
Wolf, he tuck Brer Rabbit at his word, en go off ter de pastur'
en drive up de cattle en kill Brer Rabbit bes' cow.
"Brer Rabbit, he hate mighty bad fer ter lose his cow, but he lay
his plans, en he tell his chilluns dat he gwineter have dat beef
yit. Brer Wolf, he bin tuck up by de patter-rollers 'fo' now, en
he mighty skeer'd un um, en fus news you know, yer come Brer
Rabbit hollerin' en tellin' Brer Wolf dat de patter-rollers
comin'.
"'You run en hide, Brer Wolf,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'en I'll
stay yer en take keer er de cow twel you gits back,' sezee.
"Soon's Brer Wolf hear talk er de patter-rollers, he scramble off
inter de underbrush like he bin shot out'n a gun. En he wa'n't
mo'n gone 'fo' Brer Rabbit, he whirl in en skunt de cow en salt
de hide down, en den he tuck'n cut up de kyarkiss en stow it 'way
in de smoke-'ouse, en den he tuck'n stick de een' er de cow-tail
in de groun'. Atter he gone en done all dis, den Brer Rabbit he
squall out fer Brer Wolf:
"'Run yer, Brer Wolf! Run yer! Yo' cow gwine in de groun'! Run
yer!'
"W'en ole Brer Wolf got dar, w'ich he come er scootin', dar wuz
Brer Rabbit hol'in' on ter de cow-tail, fer ter keep it fum gwine
in de groun'. Brer Wolf, he kotch holt, en dey 'gin a pull er two
en up come de tail. Den Brer Rabbit, he wink his off eye en say,
sezee:
"'Dar! de tail done pull out en de cow gone,' sezee. But Brer
Wolf he wern't de man fer ter give it up dat away, en he got 'im
a spade, en a pick-axe, en a shovel, en he dig en dig fer dat cow
twel diggin' wuz pas' all endu'unce, en ole Brer Rabbit he sot up
dar in his front po'ch en smoke his seegyar. Eve'y time ole Brer
Wolf stuck de pick-axe in de clay, Brer Rabbit, he giggle ter his
chilluns:
"'He diggy, diggy, diggy, but no meat dar! He diggy, diggy,
diggy, but no meat dar!'
"Kase all de time de cow wuz layin' pile up in his smoke-'ouse,
en him en his chilluns wuz eatin' fried beef an inguns eve'y time
dey mouf water.
"Now den, honey, you take dis yer w'ip," continued the old man,
twining the leather thong around the little boy's neck, "en
scamper up ter de big 'ouse en tell Miss Sally fer ter gin you
some un it de nex' time she fine yo' tracks in de sugar-bar'l."
XXI. MR. RABBIT MEETS HIS MATCH AGAIN
"DERE wuz nudder man dat sorter play it sharp on Brer Rabbit,"
said Uncle Remus, as, by some mysterious process, he twisted a
hog's bristle into the end of a piece of thread--an operation
which the little boy watched with great interest. "In dem days,"
continued the old man, "de creeturs kyar'd on marters same ez
fokes. Dey went inter fahmin', en I speck ef de troof wuz ter
come out, dey kep' sto', en had der camp-meetin' times en der
bobbycues w'en de wedder wuz 'greeble."
Uncle Remus evidently thought that the little boy wouldn't like
to hear of any further discomfiture of Brer Rabbit, who had come
to be a sort of hero, and he was not mistaken.
"I thought the Terrapin was the only one that fooled the Rabbit,"
said the little boy, dismally.
"Hit's des like I tell you, honey. Dey ain't no smart man, 'cep'
w'at dey's a smarter. Ef ole Brer Rabbit hadn't er got kotch up
wid, de nabers 'ud er took 'im for a ha'nt, en in dem times dey
bu'nt witches 'fo' you could squinch yo' eyeballs. Dey did dat."
"Who fooled the Rabbit this time?" the little boy asked.
When Uncle Remus had the bristle "sot" in the thread, he
proceeded with the story:
"One time Brer Rabbit en ole Brer Buzzard 'cluded dey'd sorter
go shares, en crap tergedder. Hit wuz a mighty good year, en de
truck tu'n out monstus well, but bimeby, w'en de time come fer
dividjun, hit come ter light dat ole Brer Buzzard ain't got
nuthin'. De crap wuz all gone, en dey want nuthin' dar fer ter
show fer it. Brer Rabbit, he make like he in a wuss fix'n Brer
Buzzard, en he mope 'roun', he did, like he fear'd dey gwineter
sell 'im out.
"Brer Buzzard, he ain't sayin' nuthin', but he keep up a monstus
thinkin', en one day he come 'long en holler en tell Brer Rabbit
dat he done fine rich gol'-mine des 'cross de river.
"'You come en go longer me, Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer Tukkey
Buzzard, sezee. 'Ill scratch en you kin grabble, en 'tween de two
un us we'll make short wuk er dat gol'-mine,' sezee.
"Brer Rabbit, he wuz high up fer de job, but he study en study,
he did, how he gwineter git 'cross de water, kaze ev'y time he
git his foot wet all de fambly kotch col'. Den he up'n ax Brer
Buzzard how he gwine do, en Brer Buzzard he up'n say dat he kyar
Brer Rabbit 'cross, en wid dat ole Brer Buzzard, he squot down,
he did, en spread his wings, en Brer Rabbit, he mounted, en up
dey riz." There was a pause.
"What did the Buzzard do then?" asked the little boy.
"Dey riz," continued Uncle Remus, "en w'en dey lit, dey lit in de
top er de highest sorter pine, en de pine w'at dey lit in wuz
growin' on er ilun, en de ilun wuz in de middle er de river, wid
de deep water runnin' all 'roun'. Dey ain't mo'n lit 'fo' Brer
Rabbit, he know w'ich way de win' 'uz blowin', en by de time ole
Brer Buzzard got hisse'f balance on a lim', Brer Rabbit, he up'n
say, sezee:
"'W'iles we er res'n here, Brer Buzzard, en bein's you bin so
good, I got sump'n fer ter tell you,' sezee. 'I got a gol'-mine
er my own, one w'at I make myse'f, en I speck we better go back
ter mine 'fo' we bodder 'longer yone,' sezee.
"Den ole Brer Buzzard, he laff, he did, twel he shake, en Brer
Rabbit, he sing out:
"'Hol' on, Brer Buzzard! Don't flop yo' wings w'en you laff, kaze
den if you duz, sump'n 'ill drap fum up yer, en my gol'-mine
won't do you no good, en needer will yone do me no good.'
"But 'fo' dey got down fum dar, Brer Rabbit done tole all 'bout
de crap, en he hatter prommus fer ter 'vide fa'r en squar. So
Brer Buzzard, he kyar 'im back, en Brer Rabbit he walk weak in
de knees a mont' atterwuds."
XXII. A STORY ABOUT THE LITTLE RABBITS
"FIN' um whar you will en w'en you may," remarked Uncle Remus
with emphasis, "good chilluns allers gits tuck keer on. Dar wuz
Brer Rabbit's chilluns; dey minded der daddy en mammy fum day's
een' ter day's een'. W'en ole man Rabbit say scoot,' dey scooted,
en w'en ole Miss Rabbit say 'scat,' dey scatted. Dey did dat. En
dey kep der cloze clean, en dey ain't had no smut on der nose
nudder."
Involuntarily the hand of the little boy went up to his face, and
he scrubbed the end of his nose with his coat-sleeve.
"Dey wuz good chilluns," continued the old man, heartily, "en ef
dey hadn't er bin, der wuz one time w'en dey wouldn't er bin no
little rabbits--na'er one. Dat's w'at."
"What time was that, Uncle Remus?" the little boy asked.
"De time w'en Brer Fox drapt in at Brer Rabbit house, en didn't
foun' nobody dar ceppin' de little Rabbits. Ole Brer Rabbit, he
wuz off some'rs raiding on a collard patch, en ole Miss Rabbit
she wuz tendin' on a quiltin' in de naberhood, en wiles de little
Rabbits wuz playin' hidin'-switch, in drapt Brer Fox. De little
Rabbits wuz so fat dat dey fa'rly make his mouf water, but he
'member 'bout Brer Wolf, en he skeer'd fer ter gobble urn up
ceppin' he got some skuse. De little Rabbits, dey mighty
skittish, en dey sorter huddle deyse'f up tergedder en watch Brer
Fox motions. Brer Fox, he sot dar en study w'at sorter skuse he
gwineter make up. Bimeby he see a great big stalk er sugar-cane
stan'in' up in de cornder, en he cle'r up his th'oat en talk
biggity:
"'Yer! you young Rabs dar, sail 'roun' yer en broke me a piece er
dat sweetnin'-tree,' sezee, en den he koff.
"De little Rabbits, dey got out de sugar-cane, dey did, en dey
rastle wid it, en sweat over it, but twan't no use. Dey
couldn't broke it. Brer Fox, he make like he ain't watchin', but
he keep on holler'n:
"'Hurry up dar, Rabs! I'm a waitin' on you.'
"En de little Rabbits, dey hustle 'roun' en rastle wid it, but
they couldn't broke it. Bimeby dey hear little bird singin' on
top er de house, en de song w'at de little bird sing wuz dish
yer.
"'Take yo' toofies en gnyaw it,
Take yo' toofies en saw it,
Saw it en yoke it,
En den you kin broke it.'
"Den de little Rabbits, dey git mighty glad, en dey gnyawed de
cane mos' 'fo' 'ole Brer Fox could git his legs oncrosst, en w'en
dey kyard 'im de cane, Brer Fox, he sot dar en study how he
gwineter make some mo' skuse fer nabbin' un um, en bimeby he git
up en git down de sifter w'at wuz hangin' on de wall, en holler
out:
"'Come yer, Rabs! Take dish yer sifter, en run down't de spring
en fetch me some fresh water.'
"De little Rabbits, dey run down't de spring, en try ter dip up
de water wid de sifter, but co'se hit all run out, en hit keep on
runnin' out, twel bimeby de little Rabbits sot down en 'gun ter
cry. Den de little bird settin' up in de tree he begin fer ter
sing, en dish yer's de song w'at he sing:
"'Sifter hol' water same ez a tray,
Ef you fill it wid moss en dob it wid clay;
De Fox git madder de longer you stay--
Fill it wid moss en dob it wid clay.'
"Up dey jump, de little Rabbits did, en dey fix de sifter so
'twon't leak, en den dey kyar de water ter ole Brer Fox. Den Brer
Fox he git mighty mad, en p'int out a great big stick er wood, en
tell de little Rabbits fer ter put dat on de fier. De little
chaps dey got 'roun' de wood, dey did, en dey lif' at it so hard
twel dey could see der own sins, but de wood ain't budge. Den dey
hear de little bird singin', en dish yer's de song w'at he sing:
"'Spit in yo' han's en tug it en toll it,
En git behime it, en push it, en pole it;
Spit in yo' han's en r'ar back en roll it.'
"En des 'bout de time dey got de wood on de fier, der daddy, he
come skippin' in, en de little bird, he flew'd away. Brer Fox, he
seed his game wuz up, en 'twan't long 'fo' he make his skuse en
start fer ter go.
"'You better Stay en take a snack wid me, Brer Fox,' sez Brer
Rabbit, sezee. 'Sence Brer Wolf done quite comin' en settin' up
wid me, I gittin' so I feels right lonesome dese long nights,'
sezee.
"But Brer Fox, he button up his coat-collar tight en des put out
fer home. En dat w'at you better do, honey, kaze I see Miss
Sally's shadder sailin' backerds en forerds 'fo' de winder, en de
fus' news you know she'll be spectin' un you."
XXIII. MR. RABBIT AND MR. BEAR
"DAR wuz one season" said Uncle Remus, pulling thoughtfully at
his whiskers, "w'en Brer Fox say to hisse'f dat he speck he
better whirl in en plant a goober-patch, en in dem days, mon, hit
wuz tech en go. De wud wern't mo'n out'n his mouf 'fo' de groun'
'uz brok'd up en de goobers 'uz planted. Ole Brer Rabbit, he sot
off en watch de motions, he did, en he sorter shet one eye en
sing to his chilluns:
"'Ti-yi! Tungalee!
I eat um pea, I pick um pea.
Hit grow in de groun', hit grow so free;
Ti-yi! dem goober pea.'
"Sho' 'nuff w'en de goobers 'gun ter ripen up, eve'y time Brer
Fox go down ter his patch, he fine whar somebody bin grabblin'
'mongst de vines, en he git mighty mad. He sorter speck who de
somebody is, but ole Brer Rabbit he cover his tracks so cute dat
Brer Fox dunner how ter ketch 'im. Bimeby, one day Brer Fox take
a walk all roun' de groun'-pea patch, en 'twan't long 'fo' he
fine a crack in de fence whar de rail done bin rub right smoove,
en right dar he sot 'im a trap. He tuck'n ben' down a hick'ry
saplin', growin' in de fence-cornder, en tie one een' un a plow-
line on de top, en in de udder een' he fix a loop-knot, en dat he
fasten wid a trigger right in de crack. Nex' mawnin' w'en ole
Brer Rabbit come slippin' 'long en crope thoo de crack, de
loop-knot kotch 'im behime de fo'legs, en de saplin' flew'd up,
en dar he wuz 'twix' de heavens en de yeth. Dar he swung, en he
fear'd he gwineter fall, en he fear'd he wer'n't gwineter fall.
W'ile he wuz a fixin' up a tale fer Brer Fox, he hear a lumberin'
down de road, en present'y yer cum ole Brer B'ar amblin' 'long
fum whar he bin takin' a bee-tree. Brer Rabbit, he hail 'im:
"'Howdy, Brer B'ar!'
"Brer B'ar, he look 'roun en bimeby he see Brer Rabbit swingin'
fum de saplin', en he holler out:
"'Heyo, Brer Rabbit! How you come on dis mawnin'?'
"'Much oblije, I'm middlin', Brer B'ar,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"Den Brer B'ar, he ax Brer Rabbit w'at he doin' up dar in de
elements, en Brer Rabbit, he up'n say he makin' dollar minnit.
Brer B'ar, he say how. Brer Rabbit say he keepin' crows out'n
Brer Fox's groun' pea patch, en den he ax Brer B'ar ef he don't
wanter make dollar minnit, kaze he got big fambly er chilluns fer
to take keer un, en den he make sech nice skeercrow. Brer B'ar
'low dat he take de job, en den Brer Rabbit show 'im how ter ben'
down de saplin', en 'twan't long 'fo' Brer B'ar wuz swingin' up
dar in Brer Rabbit's place. Den Brer Rabbit, he put out fer Brer
Fox house, en w'en he got dar he sing out:
"'Brer Fox! Oh, Brer Fox! Come out yer, Brer Fox, en I'll show
you de man w'at bin stealin' yo' goobers.'
"Brer Fox, he grab up his walkin'-stick, en bofe un um went
runnin' back down ter der goober-patch, en w'en dey got dar, sho
'nuff, dar wuz ole Brer B'ar.
"'Oh, yes! you er kotch, is you?' sez Brer Fox, en 'fo' Brer B'ar
could 'splain, Brer Rabbit he jump up en down, en holler out:
"'Hit 'im in de mouf, Brer Fox; hit 'im in do mouf'; en Brer Fox,
he draw back wid de walkin' cane, en blip he tuck 'im, en eve'y
time Brer B'ar'd try ter 'splain, Brer Fox'd shower down on him.
"W'iles all dis 'uz gwine on, Brer Rabbit, he slip off en git in
a mud-hole en des lef' his eyes stickin' out, kaze he know'd dat
Brer B'ar'd be a comin' atter 'im. Sho 'nuff, bimeby here come
Brer B'ar down de road, en w'en he git ter de mud-hole, he say:
"'Howdy, Brer Frog; is you seed Brer Rabbit go by yer?'
"'He des gone by,' sez Brer Rabbit, en ole man B'ar tuck off down
de road like a skeer'd mule, en Brer Rabbit, he come out en dry
hisse'f in de sun, en go home ter his fambly same ez enny udder
man.
"The Bear didn't catch the Rabbit, then?" inquired the little
boy, sleepily.
"Jump up fum dar, honey!" exclaimed Uncle Remus, by way of
reply. "I ain't got no time fer ter be settin' yer proppin' yo'
eyeleds open."
XXIV. MR. BEAR CATCHES OLD MR. BULL-FROG
"WELL, Uncle Remus," said the little boy, counting to see if he
hadn't lost a marble somewhere, "the Bear didn't catch the Rabbit
after all, did he?"
"Now you talkin', honey," replied the old man, his earnest face
breaking up into little eddies of smiles--"now you talkin' sho.
'Tain't bin proned inter no Brer B'ar fer ter kotch Brer Rabbit.
Hit sorter like settin' a mule fer ter trap a hummin'-bird. But
Brer B'ar, he tuck'n got hisse'f inter some mo' trubble, w'ich it
look like it mighty easy. Ef folks could make der livin' longer
gittin' inter trubble," continued the old man, looking curiously
at the little boy, "ole Miss Favers wouldn't be bodder'n yo' ma
fer ter borry a cup full er sugar eve'y now en den; en it look
like ter me dat I knows a nigger dat wouldn't be squattin' 'roun'
yer makin' dese yer fish-baskits."
"How did the Bear get into more trouble, Uncle Remus?" asked the
little boy.
"Natchul, honey. Brer B'ar, he tuck a notion dat ole Brer
Bull-frog wuz de man w'at fool 'im, en he say dat he'd come up
wid 'im ef 'twuz a year atterwuds. But 'twan't no year, an
'twan't no mont', en mo'n dat, hit wa'n't skasely a week, w'en
bimeby one day Brer B'ar wuz gwine home fum de takin' un a
bee-tree, en lo en behol's, who should he see but ole Brer
Bull-frog settin' out on de aidge er de mud-muddle fas' 'sleep!
Brer B'ar drap his axe, he did, en crope up, en retch out wid his
paw, en scoop ole Brer Bull-frog in des dis away." Here the old
man used his hand ladle-fashion, by way of illustration. "He
scoop 'im in, en dar he wuz. W'en Brer B'ar got his clampers on
'im good, he sot down en talk at 'im.
"'Howdy, Brer Bull-frog, howdy! En how yo fambly? I hope dey er
well, Brer Bull-frog, kaze dis day you got some bizness wid me
w'at'll las' you a mighty long time.'
"Brer Bull-frog, he dunner w'at ter say. He dunner w'at's up, en
he don't say nuthin'. Ole Brer B'ar he keep runnin' on:
"'You er de man w'at tuck en fool me 'bout Brer Rabbit t'er day.
You had yo' fun, Brer Bull-frog, en now I'll git mine.'
"Den Brer Bull-frog, he gin ter git skeer'd, he did, en he up'n
say:
"'W'at I bin doin', Brer B'ar? How I bin foolin' you?'
"Den Brer B'ar laff, en make like he dunno, but he keep on
talkin'.
"'Oh, no, Brer Bull-frog! You ain't de man w'at stick yo' head up
out'n de water en tell me Brer Rabbit done gone on by. Oh, no!
you ain't de man. I boun' you ain't. 'Bout dat time, you wuz at
home with yo' fambly, whar you allers is. I dunner whar you wuz,
but I knows whar you is, Brer Bull-frog, en hit's you en me fer
it. Atter de sun goes down dis day you don't fool no mo' folks
gwine 'long dis road.'
"Co'se, Brer Bull-frog dunner w'at Brer B'ar drivin' at, but he
know sump'n hatter be done, en dat mighty soon, kaze Brer B'ar
'gun to snap his jaws tergedder en foam at de mouf, en Brer
Bull-frog holler out:
"'Oh, pray, Brer B'ar! Lemme off dis time, en I won't never do so
no mo'. Oh, pray, Brer B'ar! do lemme off dis time, en I'll show
you de fattes' bee-tree in de woods.'
"Ole Brer B'ar, he chomp his toofies en foam at de mouf. Brer
Bull-frog he des up'n squall:
"'Oh, pray, Brer B'ar! I won't never do so no mo'! Oh, pray, Brer
B'ar! Lemme off dis time!'
"But ole Brer B'ar say he gwineter make way wid 'im, en den he
sot en study, ole Brer B'ar did, how he gwineter squench Brer
Bull-frog. He know he can't drown 'im, en he ain't got no fier
fer ter bu'n 'im, en he git mighty pestered. Bimeby ole Brer
Bull-frog, he sorter stop his cryin' en his boo-hooin', en he
up'n say:
"'Ef you gwineter kill me, Brer B'ar, kyar me ter dat big flat
rock out dar on de aidge er de mill-pon', whar I kin see my
fambly, en atter I see um, den you kin take you axe en sqush me.'
"Dis look so fa'r and squar' dat Brer B'ar he 'gree, en he take
ole Brer Bull-frog by wunner his behime legs, en sling his axe on
his shoulder, en off he put fer de big flat rock. When he git dar
he lay Brer Bullfrog down on de rock, en Brer Bull-frog make like
he lookin' 'roun' fer his folks. Den Brer B'ar, he draw long
breff en pick up his axe. Den he spit in his han's en draw back
en come down on de rock--pow!"
"'Did he kill the Frog, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy, as
the old man paused to scoop up a thimbleful of glowing embers in
his pipe.
"'Deed, en dat he didn't, honey. 'Twix' de time w'en Brer B'ar
raise up wid his axe en w'en he come down wid it, ole Brer
Bull-frog he lipt up en dove down in de mill-pon', kerblink-
kerblunk! En w'en he riz way out in de pon' he riz a singin', en
dish yer's de song w'at he sing:
"'Ingle-go-jang, my joy, my joy-
Ingle-go-jang, my joy!
I'm right at home, my joy, my joy-
Ingle-go-jang, my joy!'"
"That's a mighty funny song," said the little boy.
"Funny now, I speck," said the old man, "but 'tweren't funny in
dem days, en 'twouldn't be funny now ef folks know'd much 'bout
de Bull-frog langwidge ez dey useter. Dat's w'at."
XXV. HOW MR. RABBIT LOST HIS FINE BUSHY TAIL
"ONE time," said Uncle Remus, sighing heavily and settling
himself back in his seat with an air of melancholy resignation--
"one time Brer Rabbit wuz gwine 'long down de road shakin' his
big bushy tail, en feelin' des ez scrumpshus ez a bee-martin wid
a fresh bug." Here the old man paused and glanced at the little
boy, but it was evident that the youngster had become so
accustomed to the marvelous developments of Uncle Remus's
stories, that the extraordinary statement made no unusual
impression upon him. Therefore the old man began again, and this
time in a louder and more insinuating tone:
"One time ole man Rabbit, he wuz gwine 'long down de road
shakin' his long, bushy tail, en feelin' mighty biggity."
This was effective.
"Great goodness, Uncle Remus!" exclaimed the little boy in
open-eyed wonder, "everybody knows that rabbits haven't got long,
bushy tails."
The old man shifted his position in his chair and allowed his
venerable head to drop forward until his whole appearance was
suggestive of the deepest dejection; and this was intensified by
a groan that seemed to be the result of great mental agony.
Finally he spoke, but not as addressing himself to the little
boy.
"I notices dat dem fokes w'at makes a great 'miration 'bout w'at
dey knows is des de fokes w'ich you can't put no 'pennunce in
w'en de 'cashun come up. Yer one un um now, en he done come en
excuse me er 'lowin dat rabbits is got long, bushy tails, w'ich
goodness knows ef I'd a dremp' it, I'd a whirl in en on-dremp
it."
"Well, but Uncle Remus, you said rabbits had long, bushy tails,"
replied the little boy. "Now you know you did."
"Ef I ain't fergit it off'n my mine, I say dat ole Brer Rabbit
wuz gwine down de big road shakin' his long, bushy tail. Dat w'at
I say, en dat I stan's by."
The little boy looked puzzled, but he didn't say anything. After
a while the old man continued:
"Now, den, ef dat's 'greed ter, I'm gwine on, en ef tain't 'greed
ter, den I'm gwineter pick up my cane en look atter my own
intrust. I got wuk lyin''roun' yer dat's des natchully gittin'
moldy."
The little boy still remained quiet, and Uncle Remus proceeded:
"One day Brer Rabbit wuz gwine down de road shakin' his long,
bushy tail, w'en who should he strike up wid but ole Brer Fox
gwine amblin' long wid a big string er fish! W'en dey pass de
time er day wid wunner nudder, Brer Rabbit, he open up de confab,
he did, en he ax Brer Fox whar he git dat nice string er fish, en
Brer Fox, he up'n 'spon' dat he kotch um, en Brer Rabbit, he say
whar'bouts, en Brer Fox, he say down at de babtizin' creek, en
Brer Rabbit he ax how, kaze in dem days dey wuz monstus fon' er
minners, en Brer Fox, he sot down on a log, he did, en he up'n
tell Brer Rabbit dat all he gotter do fer ter git er big mess er
minners is ter go ter de creek atter sundown, en drap his tail in
de water en set dar twel day-light, en den draw up a whole armful
er fishes, en dem w'at he don't want, he kin fling back.
"Right dar's whar Brer Rabbit drap his watermillion, kaze he
tuck'n sot out dat night en went a fishin'. De wedder wuz sorter
col', en Brer Rabbit, he got 'im a bottle er dram en put out fer
de creek, en w'en he git dar he pick out a good place, en he
sorter squot down, he did, en let his tail hang in de water. He
sot dar, en he sot dar, en he drunk his dram, en he think he
gwineter freeze, but bimeby day come, en dar he wuz. He make a
pull, en he feel like he comin' in two, en he fetch nudder jerk,
en lo en beholes, whar wuz his tail?"
There was a long pause.
"Did it come off, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy, presently.
"She did dat!" replied the old man with unction. "She did dat,
and dat w'at make all deze yer bob-tail rabbits w'at you see
hoppin' en skaddlin' thoo de woods."
"Are they all that way just because the old Rabbit lost his tail
in the creek?" asked the little boy.
"Dat's it, honey," replied the old man. "Dat's w'at dey tells me.
Look like dey er bleedzd ter take atter der pa."
XXVI. MR. TERRAPIN SHOWS HIS STRENGTH
"BRER TARRYPIN wuz de out'nes' man," said Uncle Remus, rubbing
his hands together contemplatively, and chuckling to himself in a
very significant manner; "he wuz de out'nes' man er de whole
gang. He wuz dat."
The little boy sat perfectly quiet, betraying no impatience when
Uncle Remus paused to hunt, first in one pocket and then in
another, for enough crumbs of tobacco to replenish his pipe.
Presently the old man proceeded:
"One night Miss Meadows en de gals dey gun a candy-pullin', en
so many er de nabers come in 'sponse ter de invite dat dey hatter
put de 'lasses in de wash pot en b'il' de fier in de yard. Brer
B'ar, he holp*1 Miss Meadows bring de wood, Brer Fox, he men' de
fier, Brer Wolf, he kep' de dogs off, Brer Rabbit, he grease de
bottom er de plates fer ter keep de candy fum stickin', en Brer
Tarrypin, he klum up in a cheer, en say he'd watch en see dat de
'lasses didn't bile over. Dey wuz all dere, en dey wern't cuttin'
up no didos, nudder, kaze Miss Meadows, she done put her foot
down, she did, en say dat w'en dey come ter her place dey hatter
hang up a flag er truce at de front gate en 'bide by it.
"Well, den, w'iles dey wuz all a settin' dar en de 'lasses wuz a
bilin' en a blubberin', dey got ter runnin' on talkin' mighty
biggity. Brer Rabbit, he say he de swiffes'; but Brer Tarrypin,
he rock long in de cheer en watch de 'lasses. Brer Fox, he say he
de sharpes', but Brer Tarrypin he rock long. Brer Wolf, he say he
de mos' suvvigus, but Brer Tarrypin, he rock en he rock long.
Brer B'ar, he say he de mos' stronges', but Brer Tarrypin he
rock, en he keep on rockin'. Bimeby he sorter shet one eye, en
say, sezee:
"'Hit look like 'periently dat de ole hardshell ain't nowhars
'longside er dis crowd, yit yer I is, en I'm de same man w'at
show Brer Rabbit dat he ain't de swiffes'; en I'm de same man
w'at kin show Brer B'ar dat he ain't de stronges',' sezee.
"Den dey all laff en holler, kaze it look like Brer B'ar mo'
stronger dan a steer. Bimeby, Miss Meadows, she up'n ax, she did,
how he gwine do it.
"'Gimme a good strong rope,' sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee, 'en lemme
git in er puddle er water, en den let Brer B'ar see ef he kin
pull me out,' sezee.
"Den dey all laff 'gin, en Brer B'ar, he ups en sez, sezee: 'We
ain't got no rope,' sezee.
"'No,' sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee, 'en needer is you got de strenk,'
sezee, en den Brer Tarrypin, he rock en rock long, en watch de
'lasses a bilin' en a blubberin'.
"Atter w'ile Miss Meadows, she up en say, she did, dat she'd
take'n loan de young men her bed-cord, en w'iles de candy wuz a
coolin' in de plates, dey could all go ter de branch en see Brer
Tarrypin kyar out his projick. Brer Tarrypin," continued Uncle
Remus, in a tone at once confidential and argumentative, "weren't
much bigger'n de pa'm er my han', en it look mighty funny fer ter
year 'im braggin' 'bout how he kin out-pull Brer B'ar. But dey
got de bed-cord atter w'ile, en den dey all put out ter de
branch. W'en Brer Tarrypin fine de place he wanter, he tuck one
een er de bed-cord, en gun de yuther een' to Brer B'ar.
"'Now den, ladies en gents,' sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee, 'you all
go wid Brer B'ar up dar in de woods en I'll stay yer, en w'en you
year me holler, den's de time fer Brer B'ar fer ter see ef he kin
haul in de slack er de rope. You all take keer er dat ar een','
sezee, 'en I'll take keer er dish yer een',' sezee.
"Den dey all put out en lef' Brer Tarrypin at de branch, en w'en
dey got good en gone, he dove down inter de water, he did, en tie
de bed-cord hard en fas' ter wunner deze yer big clay-roots, en
den he riz up en gin a whoop.
"Brer B'ar he wrop de bed-cord roun' his han,' en wink at de
gals, en wid dat he gin a big juk, but Brer Tarrypin ain't budge.
Den he take bof han's en gin a big pull, but, all de same, Brer
Tarrypin ain't budge. Den he tu'n 'roun', he did, en put de rope
cross his shoulders en try ter walk off wid Brer Tarrypin, but
Brer Tarrypin look like he don't feel like walkin'. Den Brer Wolf
he put in en holp Brer B'ar pull, but des like he didn't, en den
dey all holp 'im, en, bless grashus! w'iles dey wuz all a
pullin', Brer Tarrypin, he holler, en ax um w'y dey don't take up
de slack.
"Den w'en Brer Tarrypin feel um quit pullin', he dove down, he
did, en ontie de rope, en by de time dey got ter de branch, Brer
Tarrypin, he wuz settin' in de aidge er de water des ez natchul
ez de nex' un, en he up'n say, sezee:
"'Dat las' pull er yone wuz a mighty stiff un, en a leetle mo'n
you'd er had me,' sezee. 'You er monstus stout, Brer B'ar,'
sezee, 'en you pulls like a yoke er steers, but I sorter had de
purchis on you,' sezee.
"Den Brer B'ar, bein's his mouf 'gun ter water atter de
sweetnin,' he up'n say he speck de candy's ripe, en off dey put
atter it!"
"It's a wonder," said the little boy, after a while, "that the
rope didn't break."
"Break who?" exclaimed Uncle Remus, with a touch of
indignation in his tone--"break who? In dem days, Miss Meadows's
bed-cord would a hilt a mule."
This put an end to whatever doubts the child might have
entertained.
*1 Help; helped.
XXVII. WHY MR. POSSUM HAS NO HAIR ON HIS TAIL
"HIT look like ter me," said Uncle Remus, frowning, as the
little boy came hopping and skipping into the old man's cabin,
"dat I see a young un 'bout yo' size playin' en makin' free wid
dem ar chilluns er ole Miss Favers's yistiddy, en w'en I seed
dat, I drap my axe, en I come in yer en sot flat down right whar
you er settin' now, en I say ter myse'f dat it's 'bout time fer
ole Remus fer ter hang up en quit. Dat's des zackly w'at I say."
"Well, Uncle Remus, they called me," said the little boy, in a
penitent tone. 'They come and called me, and said they had a
pistol and some powder over there."
"Dar now!" exclaimed the old man, indignantly. "Dar now! w'at I
bin sayin'? Hit's des a born blessin' dat you wa'n't brung home
on a litter wid bofe eyeballs hangin' out en one year clean gone;
dat's w'at 'tis. Hit's des a born blessin'. Hit hope me up
might'ly de udder day w'en I hear Miss Sally layin' down de law
'bout you en dem Favers chillun, yit, lo en behol's, de fus news
I knows yer you is han'-in-glove wid um. Hit's nuff fer ter fetch
ole Miss right up out'n dat berryin'-groun' fum down dar in
Putmon County, en w'at yo' gran'ma wouldn't er stood me en yo' ma
ain't gwineter stan' nudder, en de nex time I hear 'bout sech a
come off ez dis, right den en dar I'm boun' ter lay de case 'fo'
Miss Sally. Dem Favers's wa'n't no 'count 'fo' de war, en dey
wa'n't no 'count endurin' er de war, en dey ain't no 'count
atterwards, en w'iles my head's hot you ain't gwineter go mixin'
up yo'se'f wid de riff-raff er creashun."
The little boy made no further attempt to justify his conduct. He
was a very wise little boy, and he knew that, in Uncle Remus's
eyes, he had been guilty of a flagrant violation of the family
code. Therefore, instead of attempting to justify himself, he
pleaded guilty, and promised that he would never do so any more.
After this there was a long period of silence, broken only by the
vigorous style in which Uncle Remus puffed away at his pipe. This
was the invariable result. Whenever the old man had occasion to
reprimand the little boy--and the occasions were frequent--he
would relapse into a dignified but stubborn silence. Presently
the youngster drew forth from his pocket a long piece of candle.
The sharp eyes of the old man saw it at once.
"Don't you come a tellin' me dat Miss Sally gun you dat," he
exclaimed, "kaze she didn't. En I lay you hatter be monstus sly
'fo' you gotter chance fer ter snatch up dat piece er cannle."
"Well, Uncle Remus," the little boy explained, "it was lying
there all by itself, and I just thought I'd fetch it out to you.
"Dat's so, honey," said Uncle Remus, greatly mollified; "dat's
so, kaze by now some er dem yuther niggers 'ud er done had her
lit up. Dey er mighty biggity, dem house niggers is, but I
notices dat dey don't let nuthin' pass. Dey goes 'long wid der
han's en der mouf open, en w'at one don't ketch de tother one
do."
There was another pause, and finally the little boy said:
"Uncle Remus, you know you promised to-day to tell me why the
'Possum has no hair on his tail."
"Law, honey! ain't you done gone en fergot dat off'n yo' mine
yit? Hit look like ter me," continued the old man, leisurely
refilling his pipe, "dat she sorter run like dis: One time ole
Brer Possum, he git so hungry, he did, dat he bleedzd fer ter
have a mess er 'simmons. He monstus lazy man, old Brer Possum
wuz, but bimeby his stummick 'gun ter growl en holler at 'im so
dat he des hatter rack 'roun' en hunt up sump'n; en w'iles he wuz
rackin' 'roun', who sh'd he run up wid but Brer Rabbit, en dey
wuz hail-fellers, kaze Brer Possum, he ain't bin bodder'n Brer
Rabbit like dem yuther creeturs. Dey sot down by de side er de
big road, en dar dey jabber en confab 'mong wunner nudder, twel
bimeby old Brer Possum, he take 'n tell Brer Rabbit dat he mos'
pe'sh out, en Brer Rabbit, he lip up in de a'r, he did, en smack
his han's tergedder, en say dat he know right whar Brer Possum
kin git a bait er 'simmons. Den Brer Possum, he say whar, en Brer
Rabbit, he say w'ich 'twuz over at Brer B'ar's 'simmon orchard."
"Did the Bear have a 'simmon orchard, Uncle Remus?" the little
boy asked.
"Co'se, honey, kaze in dem days Brer B'ar wuz a bee-hunter. He
make his livin' findin' bee trees, en de way he fine um he plant
'im some 'simmon-trees, w'ich de bees dey'd come ter suck de
'simmons en den ole Brer B'ar he'd watch um whar dey'd go, en
den he'd be mighty ap' fer ter come up wid um. No matter 'bout
dat, de 'simmon patch 'uz dar des like I tell you, en ole Brer
Possum mouf 'gun ter water soon's he year talk un um, en mos'
'fo' Brer Rabbit done tellin' 'im de news, Brer Possum, he put
out, he did, en 'twa'n't long 'fo' he wuz perch up in de highes'
tree in Brer B'ar 'simmon patch. But Brer Rabbit, he done
'termin' fer ter see some fun, en w'iles all dis 'uz gwine on, he
run 'roun' ter Brer B'ar house, en holler en tell 'im w'ich dey
wuz somebody 'stroyin' un his 'simmons, en Brer B'ar, he hustle
off fer ter ketch 'im.
"Eve'y now en den Brer Possum think he year Brer B'ar comin',
but he keep on sayin', sezee:
"'I'll des git one 'simmon mo' en den I'll go; one 'simmon mo' en
den I'll go.'
"Las' he year Brer B'ar comm' sho nuff, but 'twuz de same ole
chune--'One 'simmon mo' en den I'll go'--en des 'bout dat time
Brer B'ar busted inter de patch, en gin de tree a shake, en Brer
Possum, he drapt out longer de yuther ripe 'simmons, but time he
totch de groun' he got his foots tergedder, en he lit out fer de
fence same ez a race-hoss, en 'cross dat patch him en Brer B'ar
had it, en Brer B'ar gain' eve'y jump, twel time Brer Possum make
de fence Brer B'ar grab 'im by de tail, en Brer Possum, he went
out 'tween de rails en gin a powerful juk en pull his tail out
'twix Brer B'ar tushes; en, lo en behol's, Brer B'ar hol' so
tight en Brer Possum pull so hard dat all de ha'r come off in
Brer B'ar's mouf, w'ich, ef Brer Rabbit hadn't er happen up wid a
go'd er water, Brer B'ar 'der got strankle.
"Fum dat day ter dis," said Uncle Remus, knocking the ashes
carefully out of his pipe, "Brer Possum ain't had no ha'r on his
tail, en needer do his chilluns."
XXVIII. THE END OF MR. BEAR
THE next time the little boy sought Uncle Remus out, he found the
old man unusually cheerful and good-humoured. His rheumatism
had ceased to trouble him, and he was even disposed to be
boisterous. He was singing when the little boy got near the
cabin, and the child paused on the outside to listen to the
vigorous but mellow voice of the old man, as it rose and fell
with the burden of the curiously plaintive song--a senseless
affair so far as the words were concerned, but sung to a melody
almost thrilling in its sweetness:
"Han' me down my walkin'-cane
(Hey my Lily! go down de road!),
Yo' true lover gone down de lane
(Hey my Lily! go down de road!)."
The quick ear of Uncle Remus, however, had detected the
presence of the little boy, and he allowed his song to run into a
recitation of nonsense, of which the following, if it be rapidly
spoken, will give a faint idea:
"Ole M'er Jackson, fines' confraction, fell down sta'rs fer to
git satisfaction; big Bill Fray, he rule de day, eve'ything he
call fer come one, two by three. Gwine 'long one day, met Johnny
Huby, ax him grine nine yards er steel fer me, tole me w'ich he
couldn't; den I hist 'im over Hickerson Dickerson's barn-doors;
knock 'im ninety-nine miles under water, w'en he rise, he rise in
Pike straddle un a hanspike, en I lef' 'im dar smokin' er de
hornpipe, Juba reda seda breda. Aunt Kate at de gate; I want to
eat, she fry de meat en gimme skin, w'ich I fling it back agin.
Juba!"
All this, rattled off at a rapid rate and with apparent
seriousness, was calculated to puzzle the little boy, and he
slipped into his accustomed seat with an expression of awed
bewilderment upon his face.
"Hit's all des dat away, honey," continued the old man, with the
air of one who had just given an important piece of information.
"En w'en you bin cas'n shadders long ez de ole nigger, den you'll
fine out who's w'ich, en w'ich's who."
The little boy made no response. He was in thorough sympathy
with all the whims and humors of the old man, and his capacity
for enjoying them was large enough to include even those he could
not understand. Uncle Remus was finishing an axe-handle, and upon
these occasions it was his custom to allow the child to hold one
end while he applied sand-paper to the other. These relations
were pretty soon established, to the mutual satisfaction of the
parties most interested, and the old man continued his remarks,
but this time not at random:
"W'en I see deze yer swell-head folks like dat 'oman w'at come en
tell yo' ma 'bout you chunkin' at her chilluns, w'ich yo' ma make
Mars John strop you, hit make my mine run back to ole Brer B'ar.
Ole Brer B'ar, he got de swell-headedness hisse'f, en ef der wuz
enny swinkin', hit swunk too late fer ter he'p ole Brer B'ar.
Leas'ways dat's w'at dey tells me, en I ain't never yearn it
'sputed."
"Was the Bear's head sure enough swelled, Uncle Remus?"
"Now you talkin', honey!" exclaimed the old man.
"Goodness! what made it swell?"
This was Uncle Remus's cue. Applying the sand-paper to the
axe-helve with gentle vigor, he began.
"One time when Brer Rabbit wuz gwine lopin' home fum a frolic
w'at dey bin havin' up at Miss Meadows's, who should he happin
up wid but ole Brer B'ar. Co'se, atter w'at done pass 'twix um
dey wa'n't no good feelin's 'tween Brer Rabbit en ole Brer B'ar,
but Brer Rabbit, he wanter save his manners, en so he holler out:
"'Heyo, Brer B'ar! how you come on? I ain't seed you in a coon's
age. How all down at yo' house? How Miss Brune en Miss Brindle?"
"Who was that, Uncle Remus?" the little boy interrupted.
"Miss Brune en Miss Brindle? Miss Brune wuz Brer B'ar's ole
'oman, en Miss Brindle wuz his gal. Dat w'at dey call um in dem
days. So den Brer Rabbit, he ax him howdy, he did, en Brer B'ar,
he 'spon' dat he wuz mighty po'ly, en dey amble 'long, dey did,
sorter familious like, but Brer Rabbit, he keep one eye on Brer
B'ar, en Brer B'ar, he study how he gwine nab Brer Rabbit. Las'
Brer Rabbit, he up'n say, sezee:
"'Brer B'ar, I speck I got some bizness cut out fer you,' sezee.
"'What dat, Brer Rabbit?' sez Brer B'ar, sezee.
"'W'iles I wuz cleanin' up my new-groun' day 'fo' yistiddy,' sez
Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'I come 'cross wunner deze yer ole time bee-
trees. Hit start holler at de bottom, en stay holler plum der de
top, en de honey's des natchully oozin' out, en ef you'll drap
yo' 'gagements en go longer me,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'you'll
git a bait dat'll las' you en yo' fambly twel de middle er nex'
mont',' sezee.
"Brer B'ar say he much oblije en he bleeve he'll go long, en wid
dat dey put out fer Brer Rabbit's new-groun', w'ich 'twa'n't so
mighty fur. Leas'ways, dey got dar atter w'ile. Ole Brer B'ar, he
'low dat he kin smell de honey. Brer Rabbit, he 'low dat he kin
see de honey-koam. Brer B'ar, he 'low dat he can hear de bees a
zoonin'. Dey stan' 'roun' en talk biggity, dey did, twel bimeby
Brer Rabbit, he up'n say, sezee:
"'You do de clim'in', Brer B'ar, en I'll do de rushin' 'roun';
you clim' up ter de hole, en I'll take dis yer pine pole en shove
de honey up whar you kin git 'er,' sezee.
"Ole Brer B'ar, he spit on his han's en skint up de tree, en jam
his head in de hole, en sho nuff, Brer Rabbit, he grab de pine
pole, en de way he stir up dem bees wuz sinful--dat's w'at it
wuz. Hit wuz sinful. En de bees dey swawm'd on Brer B'ar's head,
twel 'fo' he could take it out'n de hole hit wuz done swell up
bigger dan dat dinner-pot, en dar he swung, en ole Brer Rabbit,
he dance 'roun' en sing:
"Tree stan' high, but honey mighty sweet--
Watch dem bees wid stingers on der feet.'
"But dar ole Brer B'ar hung, en ef his head ain't swunk, I speck
he hangin' dar yit--dat w'at I speck."
XXIX. MR. FOX GETS INTO SERIOUS BUSINESS
"HIT turn out one time," said Uncle Remus, grinding some crumbs
of tobacco between the palms of his hands, preparatory to
enjoying his usual smoke after supper--"hit turn out one time dat
Brer Rabbit make so free wid de man's collard-patch dat de man he
tuck'n sot a trap fer ole Brer Rabbit."
"Which man was that, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy.
"Des a man, honey. Dat's all. Dat's all I knows--des wunner dese
yer mans w'at you see trollopin 'roun' eve'y day. Nobody ain't
never year w'at his name is, en ef dey did dey kep' de news
mighty close fum me. Ef dish yer man is bleedzd fer ter have a
name, den I'm done, kaze you'll hatter go fudder dan me. Ef you
bleedzd ter know mo' dan w'at I duz, den you'll hatter hunt up
some er deze yer niggers w'at's sprung up sence I commence fer
ter shed my ha'r."
"Well, I just thought, Uncle Remus," said the little boy, in a
tone remarkable for self-depreciation, "that the man had a name."
"Tooby sho," replied the old man, with unction, puffing away at
his pipe. "Co'se. Dat w'at make I say w'at I duz. Dish yer man
mout a had a name, en den ag'in he moutn't. He mont er bin name
Slip-shot Sam, en he mouter bin name ole One-eye Riley, w'ich ef
'twuz hit ain't bin handed roun' ter me. But dish yer man, he in
de tale, en w'at we gwine do wid 'im? Dat's de p'int, kase w'en I
git ter huntin' 'roun' 'mong my 'membunce atter dish yer Mister
W'atyoumaycollum's name, she ain't dar. Now den, le's des call
'im Mr. Man en let 'im go at dat."
The silence of the little boy gave consent.
"One time," said Uncle Remus, carefully taking up the thread of
the story where it had been dropped, "hit turn out dat Brer
Rabbit bin makin' so free wid Mr. Man's greens en truck dat Mr.
Man, he tuck'n sot a trap for Brer Rabbit, en Brer Rabbit he so
greedy dat he tuck'n walk right spang in it, 'fo' he know
hisse'f. Well, 'twa'n't long 'fo' yer come Mr. Man, broozin'
'roun', en he ain't no sooner see ole Brer Rabbit dan he smack
his han's tergedder en holler out:
"'You er nice feller, you is! Yer you bin gobblin' up my green
truck, en now you tryin' ter tote off my trap. You er mighty nice
chap--dat's w'at you is! But now dat I got you, I'll des 'bout
settle wid you fer de ole en de new.'
"En wid dat, Mr. Man, he go off, he did, down in de bushes atter
han'ful er switches. Ole Brer Rabbit, he ain't sayin' nuthin',
but he feelin' mighty lonesome, en he sot dar lookin' like eve'y
minnit wuz gwineter be de nex'. En w'iles Mr. Man wuz off
prepa'r'n his bresh-broom, who should come p'radin' long but Brer
Fox. Brer Fox make a great 'miration, he did, 'bout de fix w'at
he fin' Brer Rabbit in, but Brer Rabbit he make like he fit ter
kill hisse'f laffin', en he up'n tell Brer Fox, he did, dat Miss
Meadows's fokes want 'im ter go down ter der house in 'tennunce
on a weddin', en he 'low w'ich he couldn't, en dey 'low how he
could, en den bimeby dey take'n tie 'im dar w'iles dey go atter
de preacher, so he be dar' w'en dey come back. En mo'n dat, Brer
Rabbit up'n tell Brer Fox dat his chillun's mighty low wid de
fever, en he bleedzd ter go atter some pills fer'm, en he ax Brer
Fox fer ter take his place en go down ter Miss Meadows's en have
nice time wid de gals. Brer Fox, he in fer dem kinder pranks, en
'twa'n't no time 'fo' Brer Rabbit had ole Brer Fox harness up dar
in his place, en den he make like he got ter make 'as'e en git de
pills fer dem sick chilluns. Brer Rabbit wa'n't mo'n out er sight
'fo' yer come Mr. Man wid a han'ful er hick'ries, but w'en he see
Brer Fox tied up dar, he look like he 'stonished.
"'Heyo!' sez Mr. Man, sezee, 'you done change color, en you done
got bigger, en yo' tail done grow out. W'at kin' er w'atzyname is
you, ennyhow?' sezee.
"Brer Fox, he stay still, en Mr. Man, he talk on:
"'Hit's mighty big luck,' sezee, 'ef w'en I ketch de chap w'at
nibble my greens, likewise I ketch de feller w'at gnyaw my
goose,' sezee, en wid dat he let inter Brer Fox wid de hick'ries,
en de way he play rap-jacket wuz a caution ter de naberhood. Brer
Fox, he juk en he jump, en he squeal en he squall, but Mr. Man,
he shower down on 'im, he did, like fightin' a red was'nes'."
The little boy laughed, and Uncle Remus supplemented this
indorsement of his descriptive powers with a most infectious
chuckle.
"'Bimeby," continued the old man, "de switches, dey got frazzle
out, en Mr. Man, he put out atter mo', en w'en he done got fa'rly
outer yearin', Brer Rabbit, he show'd up, he did, kaze he des bin
hidin' out in de bushes lis'nin' at de racket, en he 'low hit
mighty funny dat Miss Meadows ain't come 'long, kaze he done bin
down ter de doctor house, en dat's fudder dan de preacher, yit.
Brer Rabbit make like he hurr'in' on home, but Brer Fox, he open
up, he did, en he say:
"'I thank you fer ter tu'n me loose, Brer Rabbit, en I'll be
'blije,' sezee, ''caze you done tie me up so tight dat it make my
head swim, en I don't speck I'd las' fer ter git ter Miss
Meadows's,' sezee.
"Brer Rabbit, he sot down sorter keerless like, en begin fer ter
scratch one year like a man studyin' 'bout sump'n.
"'Dat's so, Brer Fox,' sezee, 'you duz look sorter stove up. Look
like sump'n bin onkoamin' yo' ha'rs,' sezee.
"Brer Fox ain't sayin' nothin', but Brer Rabbit, he keep on
talkin':
"'Dey ain't no bad feelin's 'twix' us, is dey, Brer Fox? Kaze ef
dey is, I ain't got no time fer ter be tarryin' 'roun' yer.'
"Brer Fox say w'ich he don't have no onfrennelness, en wid dat
Brer Rabbit cut Brer Fox loose des in time fer ter hear Mr. Man
w'isserlin up his dogs, en one went one way en de udder went
nudder."
XXX. HOW MR. RABBIT SUCCEEDED IN RAISING A DUST
"IN dem times," said Uncle Remus, gazing admiringly at himself
in a fragment of looking-glass, "Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox, en
Brer Coon, en dem yuther creeturs go co'tin' en sparklin' 'roun'
de naberhood mo' samer dan folks. 'Twan't no 'Lemme a hoss,' ner
'Fetch me my buggy,' but dey des up'n lit out en tote deyse'f.
Dar's ole Brer Fox, he des wheel 'roun' en fetch his flank one
swipe wid 'is tongue en he'd be koam up; en Brer Rabbit, he des
spit on his han' en twis' it 'roun' 'mongst de roots er his years
en his ha'r'd be roach. Dey wuz dat flirtashus," continued the
old man, closing one eye at his image in the glass, "dat Miss
Meadows en de gals don't se no peace fum one week een' ter de
udder. Chuseday wuz same as Sunday, en Friday wuz same as
Chuseday, en hit come down ter dat pass dat w'en Miss Meadows 'ud
have chicken-fixin's fer dinner, in 'ud drap Brer Fox en Brer
Possum, en w'en she'd have fried greens in 'ud pop ole Brer
Rabbit, twel las' Miss Meadows, she tuck'n tell de gals dat she
be dad-blame ef she gwineter keep no tavvum. So dey fix it up
'mong deyse'f, Miss Meadows en de gals did, dat de nex' time de
gents call dey'd gin um a game. De gents, dey wuz a co'tin, but
Miss Meadows, she don't wanter marry none un um, en needer duz de
gals, en likewise dey don't wanter have um pester'n 'roun.' Las',
one Chuseday, Miss Meadows, she tole um dat ef dey come down ter
her house de nex' Sat'day evenin', de whole caboodle on um 'ud go
down de road a piece, whar der wuz a big flint rock, en de man
w'at could take a sludge-hammer en knock de dus' out'n dat rock,
he wuz de man w'at 'ud git de pick er de gals. Dey all say dey
gwine do it, but ole Brer Rabbit, he crope off whar der wuz a
cool place under some jimson weeds, en dar he sot wukkin his mind
how he gwineter git dus' out'n dat rock. Bimeby, w'ile he wuz a
settin' dar, up he jump en crack his heels tergedder en sing out:
"'Make a bow ter de Buzzard en den ter de Crow,
Takes a limber-toe gemmun fer ter jump Jim Crow,'
"en wid dat he put out for Brer Coon house en borrer his slippers.
W'en Sat'day evenin' come, dey wuz all dere. Miss Meadows en de
gals, dey wuz dere; en Brer Coon, en Brer Fox, en Brer Possum, en
Brer Tarrypin, dey wuz dere."
"Where was the Rabbit?" the little boy asked.
"You kin put yo' 'pennunce in ole Brer Rabbit," the old man
replied, with a chuckle. "He wuz dere, but he shuffle up kinder
late, kaze w'en Miss Meadows en de balance on um done gone down
ter de place, Brer Rabbit, he crope 'roun' ter de ash-hopper,
en fill Brer Coon's slippers full er ashes, en den he tuck'n put
um on en march off. He got dar atter 'w'ile, en soon's Miss
Meadows en de gals seed 'im, dey up'n giggle, en make a great
'miration kaze Brer Rabbit got on slippers. Brer Fox, he so
smart, he holler out, he did, en say he lay Brer Rabbit got de
groun'-eatch, but Brer Rabbit, he sorter shet one eye, he did,
en say, sezee:
"'I bin so useter ridin' hoss-back, ez deze ladies knows, dat I'm
gittin' sorter tender-footed;' en dey don't hear much mo' fum
Brer Fox dat day, kaze he 'member how Brer Rabbit done bin en rid
him; en hit 'uz des 'bout much ez Miss Meadows en de gals could
do fer ter keep der snickers fum gittin' up a 'sturbance 'mong de
congregashun. But, never mine dat, old Brer Rabbit, he wuz dar,
en he so brash dat leetle mo' en he'd er grab up de sludge-hammer
en er open up de racket 'fo' ennybody gun de word; but Brer Fox,
he shove Brer Rabbit out'n de way en pick up de sludge hisse'f.
Now den," continued the old man, with pretty much the air of one
who had been the master of similar ceremonies, "de progance wuz
dish yer: Eve'y gent wer ter have th'ee licks at de rock, en de
gent w'at fetch de dus' he were de one w'at gwineter take de pick
er de gals. Ole Brer Fox, he grab de sludge-hammer, he did, en he
come down on de rock--blim! No dus' ain't come. Den he draw back
en down he come ag'in--blam! No dus' ain't come. Den he spit in
his han's, en give 'er a big swing en down she come--kerblap! En
yit no dus' ain't flew'd.
"Den Brer Possum he make triul, en Brer Coon, en all de balance
un um 'cep' Brer Tarrypin, en he 'low dat he got a crick in his
neck. Den Brer Rabbit, he grab holt er de sludge, en he lipt up
in de a'r en come down on de rock all at de same time--pow!--en
de ashes, dey flew'd up so, dey did, dat Brer Fox, he tuck'n had
a sneezin' spell, en Miss Meadows en de gals dey up'n koff. Th'ee
times Brer Rabbit jump up en crack his heels tergedder en come
down wid de sludge-hammer--ker-blam!--en eve'y time he jump up,
he holler out:
"'Stan' fudder, ladies! Yer come de dus'!' en sho nuff, de dus'
come.
"Leas'ways," continued Uncle Remus, "Brer Rabbit got one er de
gals, en dey had a weddin' en a big infa'r."
"Which of the girls did the Rabbit marry?" asked the little boy,
dubiously.
"I did year tell un 'er name," replied the old man, with a great
affectation of interest, "but look like I done gone en fergit it
out'n my mine. Ef I don't disremember," he continued, "hit wuz
Miss Molly Cottontail, en I speck we better let it go at dat."
XXXI. A PLANTATION WITCH
The next time the little boy got permission to call upon Uncle
Remus, the old man was sitting in his door, with his elbows on
his knees and his face buried in his hands, and he appeared to be
in great trouble. "What's the matter, Uncle Remus?" the youngster
asked. "Nuff de matter, honey--mo' dan dey's enny kyo' fer. Ef
dey ain't some quare gwines on 'roun' dis place I ain't name
Remus."
The serious tone of the old man caused the little boy to open
his eyes. The moon, just at its full, cast long, vague, wavering
shadows in front of the cabin. A colony of tree-frogs somewhere
in the distance were treating their neighbors to a serenade, but
to the little boy it sounded like a chorus of lost and long-
forgotten whistlers. The sound was wherever the imagination
chose to locate it--to the right, to the left, in the air, on
the ground, far away or near at hand, but always dim and always
indistinct. Something in Uncle Remus's tone exactly fitted all
these surroundings, and the child nestled closer to the old man.
"Yasser," continued Uncle Remus, with an ominous sigh and
mysterious shake of the head, "ef dey ain't some quare gwines on
in dish yer naberhood, den I'm de ball-headest creetur 'twix' dis
en nex' Jinawerry wuz a year 'go, w'ich I knows I ain't. Dat's
what."
"What is it, Uncle Remus?"
"I know Mars John bin drivin' Cholly sorter hard ter-day, en I
say ter myse'f dat I'd drap 'round 'bout dus' en fling nudder
year er corn in de troff en kinder gin 'im a techin' up wid de
kurrier-koam; en bless grashus! I ain't bin in de lot mo'n a
minnit 'fo' I seed sump'n wuz wrong wid de hoss, and sho' nuff
dar wuz his mane full er witch-stirrups."
"Full of what, Uncle Remus?"
"Full er witch-stirrups, honey. Ain't you seed no witch-stirrups?
Well, w'en you see two stran' er ha'r tied tergedder in a hoss's
mane, dar you see a witch-stirrup, en, mo'n dat, dat hoss done
bin rid by um."
"Do you reckon they have been riding Charley?" inquired the
little boy.
"Co'se, honey. Tooby sho dey is. W'at else dey bin doin'?"
"Did you ever see a witch, Uncle Remus?"
"Dat ain't needer yer ner dar. W'en I see coon track in de
branch, I know de coon bin 'long dar."
The argument seemed unanswerable, and the little boy asked, in a
confidential tone:
"Uncle Remus, what are witches like?"
"Dey comes diffunt," responded the cautious old darkey. "Dey
comes en dey cunjus fokes. Squinch-owl holler eve'y time he
see a witch, en w'en you hear de dog howlin' in de middle er de
night, one un um's mighty ap' ter be prowlin' 'roun'. Cunjun
fokes kin tell a witch de minnit dey lays der eyes on it, but dem
w'at ain't cunjun, hit's mighty hard ter tell w'en dey see one,
kaze dey might come in de 'pearunce un a cow en all kinder
creeturs. I ain't bin useter no cunjun myse'f, but I bin livin'
long nuff fer ter know w'en you meets up wid a big black cat in
de middle er de road, wid yaller eyeballs, dar's yo' witch fresh
fum de Ole Boy. En, fuddermo', I know dat 'tain't proned inter no
dogs fer ter ketch de rabbit w'at use in a berryin'-groun'. Dey
er de mos' ongodlies' creeturs w'at you ever laid eyes on,"
continued Uncle Remus, with unction. "Down dar in Putmon County
yo' Unk Jeems, he make like he gwineter ketch wunner dem dar
graveyard rabbits. Sho nuff, out he goes, en de dogs ain't no
mo'n got ter de place fo' up jump de old rabbit right 'mong um,
en atter runnin''roun' a time or two, she skip right up ter Mars
Jeems, en Mars Jeems, he des put de gun-bar'l right on 'er en
lammed aloose. Hit tored up de groun' all 'roun', en de dogs, dey
rush up, but dey wa'n't no rabbit dar; but bimeby Mars Jeems, he
seed de dogs tuckin' der tails 'tween der legs, en he look up, en
dar wuz de rabbit caperin' 'roun' on a toom stone, en wid dat
Mars Jeems say he sorter feel like de time done come w'en yo'
gran'ma was 'specktin' un him home, en he call off de dogs en put
out. But dem wuz ha'nts. Witches is deze yer kinder fokes w'at
kin drap der body en change inter a cat en a wolf en all kinder
creeturs."
"Papa says there ain't any witches," the little boy interrupted.
"Mars John ain't live long ez I is," said Uncle Remus, by way of
comment. "He ain't bin broozin' roun' all hours er de night en
day. I know'd a nigger w'ich his brer wuz a witch, kaze he up'n
tole me how he tuck'n kyo'd 'im; en he kyo'd 'im good, mon."
"How was that?" inquired the little boy.
"Hit seem like," continued Uncle Remus, "dat witch fokes is got a
slit in de back er de neck, en w'en dey wanter change derse'f,
dey des pull de hide over der head same ez if 'twuz a shut, en
dar dey is."
"Do they get out of their skins?" asked the little boy, in an
awed tone.
"Tooby sho, honey. You see yo' pa pull his shut off? Well, dat
des 'zackly de way dey duz. But dish yere nigger w'at I'm tellin'
you 'bout, he kyo'd his brer de ve'y fus pass he made at him. Hit
got so dat fokes in de settlement didn't have no peace. De
chilluns 'ud wake up in de mawnins wid der ha'r tangle up, en wid
scratches on um like dey bin thoo a brier-patch, twel bimeby one
day de nigger he 'low dat he'd set up dat night en keep one eye
on his brer; en sho' nuff dat night, des ez de chickens wuz
crowin' fer twelve, up jump de brer and pull off his skin en sail
out'n de house in de shape un a bat, en w'at duz de nigger do but
grab up de hide, and turn it wrong-sudout'ards en sprinkle it wid
salt. Den he lay down en watch fer ter see w'at de news wuz
gwineter be. Des 'fo' day yer come a big black cat in de do', en
de nigger git up, he did, en druv her away. Bimeby, yer come a
big black dog snuffin' roun', en de nigger up wid a chunk en
lammed 'im side er de head. Den a squinch-owl lit on de koam er
de house, en de nigger jam de shovel in de fier en make 'im flew
away. Las', yer come a great big black wolf wid his eyes shinin'
like fier coals, en he grab de hide and rush out. 'Twa'n't long
'fo' de nigger year his brer holler'n en squallin', en he tuck a
light, he did, en went out, en dar wuz his brer des a waller'n on
de groun' en squirmin' 'roun', kaze de salt on de skin wuz
stingin' wuss'n ef he had his britches lineded wid yallerjackets.
By nex' mawnin' he got so he could sorter shuffle long, but he
gun up cunjun, en ef dere wuz enny mo' witches in dat settlement
dey kep' mighty close, en dat nigger he ain't skunt hisse'f no
mo' not endurin' er my 'membunce."
The result of this was that Uncle Remus had to take the little
boy by the hand and go with him to the "big house," which the old
man was not loath to do; and, when the child went to bed, he lay
awake a long time expecting an unseemly visitation from some
mysterious source. It soothed him, however, to hear the strong,
musical voice of his sable patron, not very far away, tenderly
contending with a lusty tune; and to this accompaniment the
little boy dropped asleep:
"Hit's eighteen hunder'd, forty-en-eight,
Christ done made dat crooked way straight--
En I don't wanter stay here no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd, forty-en-nine,
Christ done turn dat water inter wine--
En I don't wanter stay here no longer."
XXXII. "JACKY-MY-LANTERN" *1
UPON his next visit to Uncle Remus, the little boy was
exceedingly anxious to know more about witches, but the old man
prudently refrained from exciting the youngster's imagination any
further in that direction. Uncle Remus had a board across his
lap, and, armed with a mallet and a shoe-knife, was engaged in
making shoe-pegs.
"W'iles I wuz crossin' de branch des now," he said, endeavoring
to change the subject, "I come up wid a Jacky-my-lantern, en she
wuz bu'nin' wuss'n a bunch er lightnin'-bugs, mon. I know'd she
wuz a fixin' fer ter lead me inter dat quogmire down in de swamp,
en I steer'd cle'r an' er. Yasser. I did dat. You ain't never
seed no Jacky-my-lanterns, is you, honey?"
The little boy never had, but he had heard of them, and he wanted
to know what they were, and thereupon Uncle Remus proceeded to
tell him.
"One time," said the old darkey, transferring his spectacles from
his nose to the top of his head and leaning his elbows upon his
peg-board, "dere wuz a blacksmif man, en dish yer blacksmif man,
he tuck'n stuck closer by his dram dan he did by his bellus.
Monday mawnin' he'd git on a spree, en all dat week he'd be on a
spree, en de nex' Monday mawnin' he'd take a fresh start. Bimeby,
one day, atter de blacksmif bin spreein''roun' en cussin'
might'ly, he hear a sorter rustlin' fuss at de do', en in walk de
Bad Man."
"Who, Uncle Remus?" the little boy asked.
"De Bad Man, honey; de Ole Boy hisse'f right fresh from de ridjun
w'at you year Miss Sally readin' 'bout. He done hide his hawns,
en his tail, en his hoof, en he come dress up like w'ite fokes.
He tuck off his hat en he bow, en den he tell de blacksmif who he
is, en dat he done come atter 'im. Den de black-smif, he gun ter
cry en beg, en he beg so hard en he cry so loud dat de Bad Man
say he make a trade wid 'im. At de een' er one year de sperit er
de blacksmif wuz to be his'n en endurin' er dat time de blacksmif
mus' put in his hottes' licks in de intruss er de Bad Man, en den
he put a spell on de cheer de blacksmif was settin' in, en on his
sludge-hammer. De man w'at sot in de cheer couldn't git up less'n
de blacksmif let 'im, en de man w'at pick up de sludge 'ud hatter
keep on knockin' wid it twel de blacksmif say quit; en den he gun
'im money plenty, en off he put.
"De blacksmif, he sail in fer ter have his fun, en he have so
much dat he done clean forgot 'bout his contrack, but bimeby, one
day he look down de road, en dar he see de Bad Man comin', en den
he know'd de year wuz out. W'en de Bad Man got in de do', de
blacksmif wuz poundin' 'way at a hoss-shoe, but he wa'n't so
bizzy dat he didn't ax 'im in. De Bad Man sorter do like he ain't
got no time fer ter tarry, but de blacksmif say he got some
little jobs dat he bleedzd ter finish up, en den he ax de Bad Man
fer ter set down a minnit; en de Bad Man, he tuck'n sot down, en
he sot in dat cheer w'at he done conju'd en, co'se, dar he wuz.
Den de blacksmif, he 'gun ter poke fun at de Bad Man, en he ax
him don't he want a dram, en won't he hitch his cheer up little
nigher de fier, en de Bad Man, he beg en he beg, but 'twan't
doin' no good, kase de blacksmif 'low dat he gwineter keep 'im
dar twel he prommus dat he let 'im off one year mo', en, sho
nuff, de Bad Man prommus dat ef de black-smif let 'im up he give
'im a n'er showin'. So den de blacksmif gun de wud, en de Bad Man
sa'nter off down de big road, settin' traps en layin' his
progance fer ter ketch mo' sinners.
"De nex' year hit pass same like t'er one. At de 'p'inted time
yer come de Ole Boy atter de blacksmif, but still de blacksmif
had some jobs dat he bleedzd ter finish up, en he ax de Bad Man
fer ter take holt er de sludge en he he'p 'im out; en de Bad Man,
he 'low dat r'er'n be disperlite, he don't keer ef he do hit 'er
a biff er two; en wid dat he grab up de sludge, en dar he wuz
'gin, kase he done conju'd de sludge so dat whosomedever tuck 'er
up can't put 'er down less'n de blacksmif say de wud. Dey
perlaver'd dar, dey did, twel bimeby de Bad Man he up'n let 'im
off n'er year.
"Well, den, dat year pass same ez t'er one. Mont' in en mont' out
dat man wuz rollin' in dram, en bimeby yer come de Bad Man. De
blacksmif cry en he holler, en he rip 'roun' en t'ar his ha'r,
but hit des like he didn't, kase de Bad Man grab 'im up en cram
'im in a bag en tote 'im off. W'iles dey wuz gwine 'long dey come
up wid a passel er fokes w'at wuz havin' wanner deze yer fote er
July bobbycues, en de Ole Boy, he 'low dat maybe he kin git some
mo' game, en w'at do he do but jine in wid um. He lines in en he
talk politics same like t'er fokes, twel bimeby dinnertime come
'roun', en dey ax 'im up, w'ich 'greed wid his stummuck, en he
pozzit his bag underneed de table 'longside de udder bags w'at de
hongry fokes'd brung.
"No sooner did de blacksmif git back on de groun' dan he 'gun ter
wuk his way outer de bag. He crope out, he did, en den he tuck'n
change de bag. He tuck'n tuck a n'er bag en lay it down whar dish
yer bag wuz, en den he crope outer de crowd en lay low in de
underbresh.
"Las', w'en de time come fer ter go, de Ole Boy up wid his bag en
slung her on his shoulder, en off he put fer de Bad Place. W'en
he got dar he tuck'n drap de bag off'n his back en call up de
imps, en dey des come a squallin' en a caperin', w'ich I speck
dey mus' a bin hongry. Leas'ways dey des swawm'd 'roun',
hollerin' out:
"'Daddy, w'at you brung--daddy, w'at you brung?'
"So den dey open de bag, en lo en behol's, out jump a big bull-
dog, en de way he shuck dem little imps wuz a caution, en he kep'
on gnyawin' un um twel de Ole Boy open de gate en t'un 'im out."
"And what became of the blacksmith?" the little boy asked, as
Uncle Remus paused to snuff the candle with his fingers.
"I'm drivin' on 'roun', honey. Atter 'long time, de blacksmif he
tuck'n die, en w'en he go ter de Good Place de man at de gate
dunner who he is, en he can't squeeze in. Den he go down ter de
Bad Place, en knock. De Ole Boy, he look out, he did, en he
know'd de blacksmif de minnit he laid eyes on 'im; but he shake
his head en say, sezee:
"'You'll hatter skuze me, Brer Blacksmif, kase I dun had
'speunce 'longer you. You'll hatter go some'rs else ef you wanter
raise enny racket,' sezee, en wid dat he shet do do'.
"En dey do say," continued Uncle Remus, with unction, "dat
sense dat day de blacksmif bin sorter huv'rin' 'roun' 'twix' de
heavens en de ye'th, en dark nights he shine out so fokes call
'im Jacky-my-lantern. Dat's w'at dey tells me. Hit may be wrong
er't maybe right, but dat's w'at I years."
*1 This story is popular on the coast and among the rice-
plantations, and, since the publication of some of the
animal-myths in the newspapers, I have received a version
of it from a planter in southwest Georgia; but it seems to
me to be an intruder among the genuine myth-stories of the
negroes. It is a trifle too elaborate. Nevertheless, it is
told upon the plantations with great gusto, and there are
several versions in circulation.
XXXIII. WHY THE NEGRO IS BLACK
ONE night, while the little boy was watching Uncle Remus
twisting and waxing some shoe-thread, he made what appeared to
him to be a very curious discovery. He discovered that the palms
of the old man's hands were as white as his own, and the fact was
such a source of wonder that he at last made it the subject of
remark. The response of Uncle Remus led to the earnest recital of
a piece of unwritten history that must prove interesting to
ethnologists.
"Tooby sho de pa'm er my han's w'ite, honey," he quietly
remarked, "en, w'en it come ter dat, dey wuz a time w'en all de
w'ite folks 'uz black--blacker dan me, kaze I done bin yer so
long dat I bin sorter bleach out."
The little boy laughed. He thought Uncle Remus was making him
the victim of one of his jokes; but the youngster was never more
mistaken. The old man was serious. Nevertheless, he failed to
rebuke the ill-timed mirth of the child, appearing to be
altogether engrossed in his work. After a while, he resumed:
"Yasser. Fokes dunner w'at bin yit, let 'lone w'at gwinter be.
Niggers is niggers now, but de time wuz w'en we 'uz all niggers
tergedder."
"When was that, Uncle Remus?"
"Way back yander. In dem times we 'uz all un us black; we 'uz all
niggers tergedder, en 'cordin' ter all de 'counts w'at I years
fokes 'uz gittin' 'long 'bout ez well in dem days ez dey is now.
But atter 'w'ile de news come dat dere wuz a pon' er water
some'rs in de naberhood, w'ich ef dey'd git inter dey'd be wash
off nice en w'ite, en den one un um, he fine de place en make er
splunge inter de pon', en come out w'ite ez a town gal. En den,
bless grashus! w'en de fokes seed it, dey make a break fer de
pon', en dem w'at wuz de soopless, dey got in fus' en dey come
out w'ite; en dem w'at wuz de nex' soopless, dey got in nex', en
dey come out merlatters; en dey wuz sech a crowd un um dat dey
mighty nigh use de water up, w'ich w'en dem yuthers come long, de
morest dey could do wuz ter paddle about wid der foots en dabble
in it wid der han's. Dem wuz de niggers, en down ter dis day dey
ain't no w'ite 'bout a nigger 'ceppin de pa'ms er der han's en de
soles er der foot."
The little boy seemed to be very much interested in this new
account of the origin of races, and he made some further
inquiries, which elicited from Uncle Remus the following
additional particulars:
"De Injun en de Chinee got ter be 'counted 'long er de merlatter.
I ain't seed no Chinee dat I knows un, but dey tells me dey er
sorter 'twix' a brown en a brindle. Dey er all merlatters."
"But mamma says the Chinese have straight hair," the little boy
suggested.
"Co'se, honey," the old man unhesitatingly responded, "dem
w'at git ter de pon' time nuff fer ter git der head in de water,
de water hit onkink der ha'r. Hit bleedzd ter be dat away."
XXXIV. THE SAD FATE OF MR. FOX
"Now, den," said Uncle Remus, with unusual gravity, as soon as
the little boy, by taking his seat, announced that he was ready
for the evening's entertainment to begin; "now, den, dish yer
tale w'at I'm agwine ter gin you is de las' row er stumps, sho.
Dish yer's whar ole Brer Fox los' his breff, en he ain't fine it
no mo' down ter dis day."
"Did he kill himself, Uncle Remus?" the little boy asked, with a
curious air of concern.
"Hol' on dar, honey!" the old man exclaimed, with a great
affectation of alarm; "hol' on dar! Wait! Gimme room! I don't
wanter tell you no story, en ef you keep shovin' me forrerd, I
mout git some er de facks mix up 'mong deyse'f. You gotter gimme
room en you gotter gimme time."
The little boy had no other premature questions to ask, and,
after a pause, Uncle Remus resumed:
"Well, den, one day Brer Rabbit go ter Brer Fox house, he did, en
he put up mighty po' mouf. He say his ole 'oman sick, en his
chilluns col', en de fier done gone out. Brer Fox, he feel bad
'bout dis, en he tuck'n s'ply Brer Rabbit widder chunk er fier.
Brer Rabbit see Brer Fox cookin' some nice beef, en his mouf gun
ter water, but he take de fier, he did, en he put out to'rds
home; but present'y yer he come back, en he say de fier done gone
out. Brer Fox 'low dat he want er invite to dinner, but he don't
say nuthin', en bimeby Brer Rabbit he up'n say, sezee:
"'Brer Fox, whar you git so much nice beef?' sezee, en den Brer
Fox he up'n 'spon', sezee:
"'You come ter my house termorrer ef yo' fokes ain't too sick, en
I kin show you whar you kin git plenty beef mo' nicer dan dish
yer,' sezee.
"Well, sho nuff, de nex' day fotch Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox say,
sezee:
"'Der's a man down yander by Miss Meadows's w'at got heap er fine
cattle, en he gotter cow name Bookay,' sezee, 'en you des go en
say Bookay, en she'll open her mouf, en you kin jump in en git
des as much meat ez you kin tote,' sez Brer Fox, sezee.
"'Well, I'll go 'long,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'en you kin jump
fus' en den I'll come follerin' atter,' sezee.
"Wid dat dey put out, en dey went promernadin' 'roun' 'mong de
cattle, dey did, twel bimeby dey struck up wid de one dey wuz
atter. Brer Fox, he up, he did, en holler Bookay, en de cow flung
'er mouf wide open. Sho nuff, in dey jump, en w'en dey got dar,
Brer Fox, he say, sezee:
"'You kin cut mos' ennywheres, Brer Rabbit, but don't cut 'roun'
de haslett,' sezee.
"'Den Brer Rabbit, he holler back, he did: I'm a gitten me out a
roas'n-piece,' sezee.
"'Roas'n, er bakin', er fryin',' sez Brer Fox, sezee, 'don't git
too nigh de haslett,' sezee.
"Dey cut en dey kyarved, en dey kyarved en dey cut, en w'iles dey
wuz cuttin' en kyarvin', en slashin' 'way, Brer Rabbit, he tuck'n
hacked inter de haslett, en wid dat down fell de cow dead.
"'Now, den,' sez Brer Fox, 'we er gone, sho,' sezee.
"'W'at we gwine do?' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
"'I'll git in de maul,' sez Brer Fox, 'en you'll jump in de
gall,' sezee.
"Nex' mawnin' yer cum de man w'at de cow b'long ter, and he ax
who kill Bookay. Nobody don't say nuthin'. Den de man say he'll
cut 'er open en see, en den he whirl in, en twan't no time 'fo'
he had 'er intruls spread out. Brer Rabbit, he crope out'n de
gall, en say, sezee:
"'Mister Man! Oh, Mister Man! I'll tell you who kill yo' cow. You
look in de maul, en dar you'll fine 'im,' sezee.
"Wid dat de man tuck a stick and lam down on de maul so hard dat
he kill Brer Fox stone-dead. W'en Brer Rabbit see Brer Fox wuz
laid out fer good, he make like he mighty sorry, en he up'n ax de
man fer Brer Fox head. Man say he ain't keerin', en den Brer
Rabbit tuck'n brung it ter Brer Fox house. Dar he see ole Miss
Fox, en he tell 'er dat he done fotch her some nice beef w'at 'er
ole man sont 'er, but she ain't gotter look at it twel she go ter
eat it.
"Brer Fox son wuz name Tobe, en Brer Rabbit tell Tobe fer ter
keep still w'iles his mammy cook de nice beef w'at his daddy sont
'im. Tobe he wuz mighty hongry, en he look in de pot he did
w'iles de cookin' wuz gwine on, en dar he see his daddy head, en
wid dat he sot up a howl en tole his mammy. Miss Fox, she git
mighty mad w'en she fine she cookin' her ole man head, en she
call up de dogs, she did, en sickt em on Brer Rabbit; en ole Miss
Fox en Tobe en de dogs, dey push Brer Rabbit so close dat he
hatter take a holler tree. Miss Fox, she tell Tobe fer ter stay
dar en mine Brer Rabbit, w'ile she goes en git de ax, en w'en she
gone, Brer Rabbit, he tole Tobe ef he go ter de branch en git 'im
a drink er water dat he'll gin 'im a dollar. Tobe, he put out, he
did, en bring some water in his hat, but by de time he got back
Brer Rabbit done out en gone. Ole Miss Fox, she cut and cut twel
down come de tree, but no Brer Rabbit dar. Den she lay de blame
on Tobe, en she say she gwineter lash 'im, en Tobe, he put out en
run, de ole 'oman atter 'im. Bimeby, he come up wid Brer Rabbit,
en sot down fer to tell 'im how 'twuz, en w'iles dey wuz a
settin' dar, yer come ole Miss Fox a slippin' up en grab um bofe.
Den she tell um w'at she gwine do. Brer Rabbit she gwineter kill,
en Tobe she gwineter lam ef its de las' ack. Den Brer Rabbit sez,
sezee:
"'Ef you please, ma'am, Miss Fox, lay me on de grinestone en
groun off my nose so I can't smell no mo' w'en I'm dead.'
"Miss Fox, she tuck dis ter be a good idee, en she fotch bofe un
um ter de grinestone, en set um up on it so dat she could
groun' off Brer Rabbit nose. Den Brer Rabbit, he up'n say, sezee:
"'Ef you please, ma'am, Miss Fox, Tobe he kin turn de handle
w'iles you goes atter some water fer ter wet de grinestone,'
sezee.
"Co'se, soon'z Brer Rabbit see Miss Fox go atter de water, he
jump down en put out, en dis time he git clean away."
"And was that the last of the Rabbit, too, Uncle Remus?" the
little boy asked, with something like a sigh.
"Don't push me too close, honey," responded the old man; "don't
shove me up in no cornder. I don't wanter tell you no stories.
Some say dat Brer Rabbit's ole 'oman died fum eatin' some pizen-
weed, en dat Brer Rabbit married ole Miss Fox, en some say not.
Some tells one tale en some tells nudder; some say dat fum dat
time forrerd de Rabbits en de Foxes make fren's en stay so; some
say dey kep on quollin'. Hit look like it mixt. Let dem tell you
w'at knows. Dat w'at I years you gits it straight like I yeard
it."
There was a long pause, which was finally broken by the old man:
"Hit's 'gin de rules fer you ter be noddin' yer, honey. Bimeby
you'll drap off en I'll hatter tote you up ter de big 'ouse. I
hear dat baby cryin', en bimeby Miss Sally'll fly up en be a
holler'n atter you"
"Oh, I wasn't asleep," the little boy replied. "I was just
thinking."
"Well, dat's diffunt," said the old man. "Ef you'll clime up on
my back," he continued, speaking softly, "I speck I ain't too ole
fer ter be yo' hoss fum yer ter de house. Many en many's de time
dat I toted yo' Unk Jeems dat away, en Mars Jeems wuz heavier sot
dan w'at you is."
PLANTATION PROVERBS
BIG 'possum clime little tree.
Dem w'at eats kin say grace.
Ole man Know-All died las' year.
Better de gravy dan no grease 'tall.
Dram ain't good twel you git it.
Lazy fokes' stummucks don't git tired.
Rheumatiz don't he'p at de log-rollin'.
Mole don't see w'at his naber doin'.
Save de pacin' mar' fer Sunday.
Don't rain eve'y time de pig squeal.
Crow en corn can't grow in de same fiel'.
Tattlin' 'oman can't make de bread rise.
Rails split 'fo' bre'kfus'll season de dinner.
Dem w'at knows too much sleeps under de ash-hopper.
Ef you wanter see yo' own sins, clean up a new groun'.
Hog dunner w'ich part un 'im'll season de turnip salad.
Hit's a blessin' de w'ite sow don't shake de plum-tree.
Winter grape sour, whedder you kin reach 'im or not.
Mighty po' bee dat don't make mo' honey dan he want.
Kwishins on mule's foots done gone out er fashun.
Pigs dunno w'at a pen's fer.
Possum's tail good as a paw.
Dogs don't bite at de front gate.
Colt in de barley-patch kick high.
Jay-bird don't rob his own nes'.
Pullet can't roost too high for de owl.
Meat fried 'fo' day won't las' twel night.
Stump water won't kyo' de gripes.
De howlin' dog know w'at he sees.
Blin' hoss don't fall w'en he follers de bit.
Hongry nigger won't w'ar his maul out.
Don't fling away de empty wallet.
Black-snake know de way ter de hin nes'.
Looks won't do ter split rails wid.
Settin' hens don't hanker arter fresh aigs.
Tater-vine growin' w'ile you sleep.
Hit take two birds fer to make a nes'.
Ef you bleedzd ter eat dirt, eat clean dirt.
Tarrypin walk fast 'nuff fer to go visitin'.
Empty smoke-house makes de pullet holler.
W'en coon take water he fixin' fer ter fight.
Corn makes mo' at de mill dan it does in de crib.
Good luck say: "Op'n yo' mouf en shet yo' eyes."
Nigger dat gets hurt wukkin oughter show de skyars.
Fiddlin' nigger say hit's long ways ter de dance.
Rooster makes mo' racket dan de hin w'at lay de aig.
Meller mush-million hollers at you fum over de fence.
Nigger wid a pocket-hankcher better be looked atter.
Rain-crow don't sing no chune, but you k'n 'pen' on 'im.
One-eyed mule can't be handled on de bline side.
Moon may shine, but a lightered knot's mighty handy.
Licker talks mighty loud w'en it git loose fum de jug.
De proudness un a man don't count w'en his head's cold.
Hongry rooster don't cackle w'en he fine a wum.
Some niggers mighty smart, but dey can't drive de pidgins ter
roos'.
You may know de way, but better keep yo' eyes on de seven stairs.
All de buzzards in de settlement 'll come to de gray mule's
funer'l.
You k'n hide de fier, but w'at you gwine do wid de smoke?
Termorrow may be de carridge-driver's day for ploughin'.
Hit's a mighty deaf nigger dat don't year de dinner-ho'n.
Hit takes a bee fer ter git de sweetness out'n de hoar-houn'
blossom.
Ha'nts don't bodder longer hones' folks, but you better go 'roun'
de grave-yard.
De pig dat runs off wid de year er corn gits little mo' dan
de cob.
Sleepin' in de fence-cornder don't fetch Chrismus in de kitchen.
De spring-house may freeze, but de niggers 'll keep de shuck-pen
warm.
'Twix' de bug en de bee-martin 'tain't hard ter tell w'ich
gwineter git kotch.
Don't 'sput wid de squinch-owl. Jam de shovel in de fier.
You'd see mo' er de mink ef he know'd whar de yard dog sleeps.
Troubles is seasonin'.
'Simmons ain't good twel dey 'er fros'-bit.
Watch out w'en you'er gittin all you want. Fattenin' hogs ain't
in luck.
HIS SONGS
I. REVIVAL HYMN
OH, whar shill we go w'en de great day comes,
Wid de blowin' er de trumpits en de bangin' er de drums?
How many po' sinners'll be kotched out late
En fin' no latch ter de golden gate?
No use fer ter wait twel termorrer!
De sun mus'n't set on yo' sorrer,
Sin's ez sharp ez a bamboo-brier-
Oh, Lord! fetch de mo'ners up higher!
W'en de nashuns er de earf is a stan'in all aroun,
Who's a gwineter be choosen fer ter w'ar de glory-crown?
Who's a gwine fer ter stan' stiff-kneed en bol'.
En answer to der name at de callin' er de roll?
You better come now ef you comin'--
Ole Satun is loose en a bummin'--
De wheels er distruckshun is a hummin'--
Oh, come long, sinner, ef you comin'!
De song er salvashun is a mighty sweet song,
En de Pairidise win' blow fur en blow strong,
En Aberham's bosom, hit's saft en hit's wide,
En right dar's de place whar de sinners oughter hide!
Oh, you nee'nter be a stoppin' en a lookin';
Ef you fool wid ole Satun you'll git took in;
You'll hang on de aidge en get shook in,
Ef you keep on a stoppin' en a lookin'.
De time is right now, en dish yer's de place--
Let de sun er salvashun shine squar' in yo' face;
Fight de battles er de Lord, fight soon en fight late,
En you'll allers fine a latch ter de golden gate.
No use fer ter wait twel termorrer,
De sun musn't set on yo' sorrer--
Sin's ez sharp ez a bamboo-brier,
Ax de Lord fer ter fetch you up higher!
II. CAMP-MEETING SONG *
OH, de worril is roun' en de worril is wide--
Lord! 'member deze chillun in de mornin'--
Hit's a mighty long ways up de mountain side,
En dey ain't no place fer dem sinners fer ter hide,
En dey ain't no place whar sin kin abide,
W'en de Lord shill come in de mornin'!
Look up en look aroun',
Fling yo' burden on de groun',
Hit's a gittin' mighty close on ter mornin'!
Smoove away sin's frown--
Retch up en git de crown,
W'at de Lord will fetch in de mornin'!
De han' er ridem'shun, hit's hilt out ter you--
Lord! 'member dem sinners in de mornin'!
Hit's a mighty pashent han', but de days is but few,
W'en Satun, he'll come a demandin' un his due,
En de stiff-neck sinners 'll be smotin' all fru-
Oh, you better git ready for de mornin'!
Look up en set yo' face
To'ds de green hills of grace
'Fo' de sun rises up in de mornin'--
Oh, you better change yo' base,
Hits yo' soul's las' race
For de glory dat's a comin' in de mornin'!
De farmer gits ready w'en de lan's all plowed
For ter sow dem seeds in de mornin'
De sperrit may be puny en de flesh may be proud,
But you better cut loose fum de scoffin' crowd,
En jine dose Christuns w'at's a cryin' out loud
Fer de Lord fer ter come in de mornin'!
Shout loud en shout long,
Let de eckoes ans'er strong,
W'en de sun rises up in de mornin'!
Oh, you allers will be wrong
Twel you choose ter belong
Ter de Marster w'at's a comin' in de mornin'!
*In the days of slavery, the religious services held by the
negroes who accompanied their owners to the camp-meetings
were marvels of earnestness and devotion.
III. CORN-SHUCKING SONG
OH, de fus' news you know de day'll be a breakin'--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango! *1)
An' de fier be a burnin' en' de ash-cake a bakin',
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
An' de ho'n 'll be a hollerin' en de boss 'll be a wakin'--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Better git up, nigger, en give yo'se'f a shakin'--
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
Oh, honey! w'en you see dem ripe stars a fallin'--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Oh, honey! w'en you year de rain-crow a callin'--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Oh, honey! w'en you year dat red calf a bawlin'--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Den de day time's a creepin' en a crawlin'--
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
For de los' ell en yard *2 is a huntin' for de mornin',
(Hi O! git long! go 'way!)
En she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in--
(Oh, go 'way, Sindy Ann!)
Oh, honey! w'en you year dat tin horn a tootin'
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Oh, honey, w'en you year de squinch owl a hootin'--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Oh, honey! w'en you year dem little pigs a rootin'--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Right den she's a comin' a skippin' en a scootin'--
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
Oh, honey, w'en you year dat roan mule whicker--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
W'en you see Mister Moon turnin' pale en gittin' sicker--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Den hit's time for ter handle dat corn a little quicker--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Ef you wanter git a smell er old Marster's jug er licker--
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
For de los' ell en yard is a huntin' for de mornin'
(Hi O! git long! go 'way!)
En she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in--
(Oh, go 'way, Sindy Ann!)
You niggers 'cross dar! you better stop your dancin'--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
No use for ter come a flingin' un yo' "sha'n'ts" in--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
No use for ter come a flingin' un yo' "can't's" in--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Kaze dey ain't no time for yo' pattin' nor yo' prancin'!
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
Mr. Rabbit see de Fox, en he sass um en jaws um--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Mr. Fox ketch de Rabbit, en he scratch um en he claws um--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
En he tar off de hide, en he chaws um en he gnyaws um--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Same like gal chawin' sweet gum en rozzum--
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
For de los' ell en yard is a huntin' for de mornin'
(Hi O! git 'long! go 'way!)
En she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in--
(Oh, go 'way, Sindy Ann!)
Oh, work on, boys! give doze shucks a mighty wringin'--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
'Fo' de boss come aroun' a dangin' en a dingin'--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Git up en move aroun'! set dem big han's ter swingin'--
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Git up'n shout loud! let de w'ite folks year you singin'!
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
For de los' ell en yard is a huntin' for de mornin'
(Hi O! git long! go 'way!)
En she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in.
(Oh, go 'way Sindy Ann!)
*1 So far as I know, "Bango" is a meaningless term, introduced
on account of its sonorous ruggedness.
*2 The sword and belt in the constellation of Orion.
IV. THE PLOUGH-HANDS' SONG
(JASPER COUNTY--1860.)
NIGGER mighty happy w'en he layin' by co'n--
Dat sun's a slantin';
Nigger mighty happy w'en he year de dinner-ho'n--
Dat sun's a slantin';
En he mo' happy still w'en de night draws on--
Dat sun's a slantin';
Dat sun's a slantin' des ez sho's you bo'n!
En it's rise up, Primus! fetch anudder yell:
Dat ole dun cow's des a shakin' up 'er bell,
En de frogs chunin' up 'fo' de jew done fell:
Good-night, Mr. Killdee! I wish you mighty well!
--Mr. Killdee! I wish you mighty well!
--I wish you mighty well!
Do co'n 'll be ready 'g'inst dumplin' day--
Dat sun's a slantin';
But nigger gotter watch, en stick, en stay--
Dat sun's a slantin';
Same ez de bee-martin watchin' un de jay--
Dat sun's a slantin';
Dat sun's a slantin' en a slippin' away!
Den it's rise up, Primus! en gin it turn strong;
De cow's gwine home wid der ding-dang-dong--
Sling in anudder tetch er de ole-time song:
Good-night, Mr. Whipperwill! don't stay long!
--Mr. Whipperwill! don't stay long!
--Don't stay long!
V. CHRISTMAS PLAY-SONG
(MYRICK PLACE, PUTNAM COUNTY 1858.)
Hi my rinktum! Black gal sweet,
Same like goodies w'at de w'ite folks eat;
Ho my Riley! don't you take'n tell 'er name,
En den ef sumpin' happen you won't ketch de blame;
Hi my rinktum! better take'n hide yo' plum;
Joree don't holler eve'y time he fine a wum.
Den it's hi my rinktum!
Don't git no udder man;
En it's ho my Riley!
Fetch out Miss Dilsey Ann!
Ho my Riley! Yaller gal fine;
She may be yone but she oughter be mine!
Hi my rinktum! Lemme git by,
En see w'at she mean by de cut er dat eye!
Ho my Riley! better shet dat do'--
De w'ite folks 'll bleeve we er t'arin up de flo'.
Den it's ho my Riley!
Come a siftin' up ter me!
En it's hi my rinktum!
Dis de way ter twis' yo' knee!
Hi my rinktum! Ain't de eas' gittin' red?
De squinch owl shiver like he wanter go ter bed;
Ho my Riley! but de gals en de boys,
Des now gittin' so dey kin sorter make a noise.
Hi my rinktum! let de yaller gal lone;
Niggers don't hanker arter sody in de pone.
Den it's hi my rinktum!
Better try anudder plan;
An' it's ho my Riley!
Trot out Miss Dilsey Ann!
Ho my Riley! In de happy Chris'mus time
De niggers shake der cloze a huntin' for a dime.
Hi my rinktum! En den dey shake der feet,
En greaze derse'f wid de good ham meat.
Ho my Riley! dey eat en dey cram,
En bimeby ole Miss 'll be a sendin' out de dram.
Den it's ho my Riley!
You hear dat, Sam!
En it's hi my rinktum!
Be a sendin' out de dram!
VI. PLANTATION PLAY-SONG
(PUTNAM COUNTY--1856.)
HIT'S a gittin' mighty late, w'en de Guinny-hins squall,
En you better dance now, ef you gwineter dance a tall,
Fer by dis time termorrer night you can't hardly crawl,
Kaze you'll hatter take de hoe ag'in en likewise de maul--
Don't you hear dat bay colt a kickin' in his stall?
Stop yo' humpin' up yo' sho'lders do!
Dat'll never do! Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!
Hit takes a heap er scrougin'
For ter git you thoo--
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!
Ef you niggers don't watch, you'll sing anudder chune,
Fer de sun'll rise'n ketch you ef you don't be mighty soon;
En de stars is gittin' paler, en de ole gray coon
Is a settin' in de grape-vine a watchin' fer de moon.
W'en a feller comes a knockin'
Des holler--Oh, shoo!
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!
Oh, swing dat yaller gal!
Do, boys, do!
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!
Oh, tu'n me loose! Lemme 'lone! Go way, now!
W'at you speck I come a dancin' fer ef I dunno how?
Deze de ve'y kinder footses w'at kicks up a row;
Can't you jump inter de middle en make yo' gal a bow?
Look at dat merlatter man
A follerin' up Sue;
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!
De boys ain't a gwine
W'en you cry boo hoo--
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!
VII. TRANSCRIPTIONS *1
1. A PLANTATION CHANT
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-fo',
Christ done open dat He'v'mly do'--
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-five,
Christ done made dat dead man alive--
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun--
Run home, dat sun done roll--
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-six,
Christ is got us a place done fix--
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-sev'm
Christ done sot a table in Hev'm
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun--
Run home, dat sun done roll--
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-eight,
Christ done make dat crooked way straight--
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-nine,
Christ done tu'n dat water inter wine--
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun--
Run home, dat sun done roll--
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-ten,
Christ is de mo'ner's onliest fr'en'--
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-lev'm,
Christ 'll be at de do' w'en we all git ter Hev'm--
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun--
Run home, dat sun done roll--
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
*1 If these are adaptations from songs the negroes have caught
from the whites, their origin is very remote. I have
transcribed them literally, and I regard them as in the
highest degree characteristic.
2.A PLANTATION SERENADE
DE ole bee make de honey-comb,
De young bee make de honey,
De niggers make de cotton en co'n,
En de w'ite folks gits de money.
De raccoon he's a cu'us man,
He never walk twel dark,
En nuthin' never 'sturbs his mine,
Twel he hear ole Bringer bark.
De raccoon totes a bushy tail,
De 'possum totes no ha'r,
Mr. Rabbit, he come skippin' by,
He ain't got none ter spar'.
Monday mornin' break er day,
W'ite folks got me gwine,
But Sat'dy night, w'en de sun goes down,
Dat yaller gal's in my mine.
Fifteen poun' er meat a week,
W'isky for ter sell,
Oh, how can a young man stay at home,
Dem gals dey look so well?
Met a 'possum in de road--
Bre' 'Possum, whar you gwine?
I thank my stars, I bless my life,
I'm a huntin' for de muscadine.
VIII. THE BIG BETHEL CHURCH
DE Big Bethel chu'ch! de Big Bethel chu'ch!
Done put ole Satun behine um;
Ef a sinner git loose fum enny udder chu'ch,
De Big Bethel chu'ch will fine um!
Hit's good ter be dere, en it's sweet ter be dere,
Wid de sisterin' all aroun' you--
A shakin' dem shackles er mussy en' love
Wharwid de Lord is boun' you.
Hit's sweet ter be dere en lissen ter de hymns,
En hear dem mo'ners a shoutin'--
Dey done reach de place whar der ain't no room
Fer enny mo' weepin' en doubtin'.
Hit's good ter be dere w'en de sinners all jine
Wid de brudderin in dere singin',
En it look like Gaberl gwine ter rack up en blow
En set dem heav'm bells ter ringin'!
Oh, de Big Bethel chu'ch! de Big Bethel chu'ch,
Done put ole Satun behine am;
Ef a sinner git loose fum enny udder chu'ch
De Big Bethel chu'ch will fine um!
IX. TIME GOES BY TURNS
DAR'S a pow'ful rassle 'twix de Good en de Bad,
En de Bad's got de all--under holt;
En w'en de wuss come, she come i'on-clad,
En you hatter hol' yo' bref for de jolt.
But des todes de las' Good gits de knee-lock,
En dey draps ter de groun'--ker flop!
Good had de inturn, en he stan' like a rock,
En he bleedzd for ter be on top.
De dry wedder breaks wid a big thunder-clap,
For dey ain't no drout' w'at kin las',
But de seasons w'at whoops up de cotton crap,
Likewise dey freshens up de grass.
De rain fall so saf' in de long dark night,
Twel you hatter hol' yo' han' for a sign,
But de drizzle w'at sets de tater-slips right
Is de makin' er de May-pop vine.
In de mellerest groun' de clay root 'll ketch
En hol' ter de tongue er de plow,
En a pine-pole gate at de gyardin-patch
Never 'll keep out de ole brindle cow.
One en all on us knows who's a pullin' at de bits
Like de lead-mule dat g'ides by de rein,
En yit, somehow or nudder, de bestest un us gits
Mighty sick er de tuggin' at de chain.
Hump yo'se'f ter de load en fergit de distress,
En dem w'at stan's by ter scoff,
For de harder de pullin', de longer de res',
En de bigger de feed in de troff.
A STORY OF THE WAR
WHEN Miss Theodosia Huntingdon, of Burlington, Vermont, concluded
to come South in 1870, she was moved by three considerations. In
the first place, her brother, John Huntingdon, had become a
citizen of Georgia--having astonished his acquaintances by
marrying a young lady, the male members of whose family had
achieved considerable distinction in the Confederate army; in the
second place, she was anxious to explore a region which she
almost unconsciously pictured to herself as remote and semi-
barbarous; and, in the third place, her friends had persuaded her
that to some extent she was an invalid. It was in vain that she
argued with herself as to the propriety of undertaking the
journey alone and unprotected, and she finally put an end to
inward and outward doubts by informing herself and her friends,
including John Huntingdon, her brother, who was practicing law in
Atlanta, that she had decided to visit the South.
When, therefore, on the 12th of October, 1870--the date is duly
recorded in one of Miss Theodosia's letters--she alighted from
the cars in Atlanta, in the midst of a great crowd, she fully
expected to find her brother waiting to receive her. The bells of
several locomotives were ringing, a number of trains were moving
in and out, and the porters and baggage-men were screaming and
bawling to such an extent that for several moments Miss
Huntingdon was considerably confused; so much so that she paused
in the hope that her brother would suddenly appear and rescue her
from the smoke, and dust, and din. At that moment some one
touched her on the arm, and she heard a strong, half-confident,
half-apologetic voice exclaim:
"Ain't dish yer Miss Doshy?"
Turning, Miss Theodosia saw at her side a tall, gray-haired
negro. Elaborating the incident afterward to her friends, she was
pleased to say that the appearance of the old man was somewhat
picturesque. He stood towering above her, his hat in one hand, a
carriage-whip in the other, and an expectant smile lighting up
his rugged face. She remembered a name her brother had often used
in his letters, and, with a woman's tact, she held out her hand,
and said:
"Is this Uncle Remus?"
"Law, Miss Doshy! how you know de ole nigger? I know'd you by
de faver; but how you know me?" And then, without waiting for a
reply: "Miss Sally, she sick in bed, en Mars John, he bleedzd ter
go in de country, en dey tuck'n sont me. I know'd you de minnit I
laid eyes on you. Time I seed you, I say ter myse'f, 'I lay dar's
Miss Doshy,' en, sho nuff, dar you wuz. You ain't gun up yo'
checks, is you? Kaze I'll git de trunk sont up by de 'spress
waggin."
The next moment Uncle Remus was elbowing his way unceremoniously
through the crowd, and in a very short time, seated in the
carriage driven by the old man, Miss Huntingdon was whirling
through the streets of Atlanta in the direction of her brother's
home. She took advantage of the opportunity to study the old
negro's face closely, her natural curiosity considerably
sharpened by a knowledge of the fact that Uncle Remus had played
an important part in her brother's history. The result of her
observation must have been satisfactory, for presently she
laughed, and said:
"Uncle Remus, you haven't told me how you knew me in that great
crowd."
The old man chuckled, and gave the horses a gentle rap with the
whip.
"Who? Me! I know'd you by de faver. Dat boy er Mars John's is de
ve'y spit en immij un you. I'd a know'd you in New 'Leens, let
lone down dar in de kyar-shed."
This was Miss Theodosia's introduction to Uncle Remus. One Sunday
afternoon, a few weeks after her arrival, the family were assembled
in the piazza enjoying the mild weather. Mr. Huntingdon was reading
a newspaper; his wife was crooning softly as she rocked the baby to
sleep; and the little boy was endeavoring to show his Aunt Dosia
the outlines of Kennesaw Mountain through the purple haze that
hung like a wonderfully fashioned curtain in the sky and almost
obliterated the horizon. While they were thus engaged, Uncle Remus
came around the corner of the house, talking to himself.
"Dey er too lazy ter wuk," he was saying, "en dey specks hones'
fokes fer ter stan' up en s'port um. I'm gwine down ter Putmon
County whar Mars Jeems is--dat's w'at I'm agwine ter do."
"What's the matter now, Uncle Remus?" inquired Mr. Huntingdon,
folding up his newspaper.
"Nuthin' 'tall, Mars John, 'ceppin deze yer sunshine niggers. Dey
begs my terbacker, en borrys my tools, en steals my vittles, en
hit's done come ter dat pass dat I gotter pack up en go. I'm
agwine down ter Putmon, dat's w'at."
Uncle Remus was accustomed to make this threat several times a
day, but upon this occasion it seemed to remind Mr. Huntingdon of
something.
"Very well," he said, "I'll come around and help you pack up, but
before you go I want you to tell Sister here how you went to war
and fought for the Union.--Remus was a famous warrior," he
continued, turning to Miss Theodosia; "he volunteered for one
day, and commanded an army of one. You know the story, but you
have never heard Remus's version."
Uncle Remus shuffled around in an awkward, embarrassed way,
scratched his head, and looked uncomfortable.
"Miss Doshy ain't got no time fer ter set dar an' year de ole
nigger run on."
"Oh, yes, I have, Uncle Remus!" exclaimed the young lady; "plenty
of time."
The upshot of it was that, after many ridiculous protests, Uncle
Remus sat down on the steps, and proceeded to tell his story of
the war. Miss Theodosia listened with great interest, but
throughout it all she observed--and she was painfully conscious
of the fact, as she afterward admitted--that Uncle Remus spoke
from the standpoint of a Southerner, and with the air of one who
expected his hearers to thoroughly sympathize with him.
"Co'se," said Uncle Remus, addressing himself to Miss Theodosia,
"you ain't bin to Putmon, en you dunner whar de Brad Slaughter
place en Harmony Grove is, but Mars John en Miss Sally, dey bin
dar a time er two, en dey knows how de lan' lays. Well, den, it
'uz right long in dere whar Mars Jeems lived, en whar he live
now. When de war come long he wuz livin' dere longer Ole Miss en
Miss Sally. Ole Miss 'uz his ma, en Miss Sally dar 'uz his
sister. De war come des like I tell you, en marters sorter rock
along same like dey allers did. Hit didn't strike me dat dey wuz
enny war gwine on, en ef I hadn't sorter miss de nabers, en seed
fokes gwine outer de way fer ter ax de news, I'd a 'lowed ter
myse'f dat de war wuz 'way off 'mong some yuther country. But all
dis time de fuss wuz gwine on, en Mars Jeems, he wuz des eatchin'
fer ter put in. Ole Miss en Miss Sally, dey tuck on so he didn't
git off de fus' year, but bimeby news come down dat times wuz
gittin' putty hot, en Mars Jeems he got up, he did, en say he
gotter go, en go he did. He got a overseer fer ter look atter de
place, en he went en jined de army. En he 'uz a fighter, too,
mon, Mars Jeems wuz. Many's en many's de time," continued the old
man, reflectively, "dat I hatter take'n bresh dat boy on a
counter his 'buzin' en beatin' dem yuther boys. He went off dar
fer ter fight, en he fit. Ole Miss useter call me up Sunday
en read w'at de papers say 'bout Mars Jeems, en it ho'p 'er up
might'ly. I kin see 'er des like it 'uz yistiddy.
"'Remus,' sez she, 'dish yer's w'at de papers say 'bout my baby,'
en den she'd read out twel she couldn't read fer cryin'. Hit went
on dis way year in en year out, en dem wuz lonesome times, sho's
you bawn, Miss Doshy--lonesome times, sho. Hit got hotter en
hotter in de war, en lonesomer en mo' lonesomer at home, en
bimeby 'long come de conscrip' man, en he des everlas'nly scoop
up Mars Jeems's overseer. W'en dis come 'bout, ole Miss, she sont
atter me en say, sez she:
"'Remus, I ain't got nobody fer ter look arter de place but you,'
sez she, en den I up'n say, sez I:
"'Mistiss, you kin des 'pen' on de ole nigger.'
"I wuz ole den, Miss Doshy--let lone w'at I is now; en you better
b'leeve I bossed dem han's. I had dem niggers up en in de fiel'
long 'fo' day, en de way dey did wuk wuz a caution. Ef dey didn't
earn der vittles dat season den I ain't name Remus. But dey wuz
tuk keer un. Dey had plenty er cloze en plenty er grub, en dey
wuz de fattes' niggers in de settlement.
"Bimeby one day, Ole Miss, she call me up en say de Yankees done
gone en tuck Atlanty--dish yer ve'y town; den present'y I year
dey wuz a marchin' on down todes Putmon, en, lo en behol's! one
day, de fus news I know'd, Mars Jeems he rid up wid a whole gang
er men. He des stop long nuff fer ter change hosses en snatch a
mouffle er sump'n ter eat, but 'fo' he rid off, he call me up en
say, sez he:
"'Daddy'--all Ole Miss's chilluns call me daddy--'Daddy,' he say,
''pears like dere's gwineter be mighty rough times 'roun' yer. De
Yankees, dey er done got ter Madison en Mounticellar, en 'twon't
be many days 'fo' dey er down yer. 'Tain't likely dey'll pester
mother ner sister; but, daddy, ef de wus come ter de wus, I speck
you ter take keer un um,' sezee.
"Den I say, sez I: 'How long you bin knowin' me, Mars Jeems?' sez
I.
"'Sence I wuz a baby,' sezee.
"'Well, den, Mars Jeems,' sez I, 'you know'd 'twa'nt no use fer
ter ax me ter take keer Ole Miss en Miss Sally.'
"Den he tuck'n squoze my han' en jump on de filly I bin savin'
fer 'im, en rid off. One time he tu'n roun' en look like he
wanter say sump'n', but he des waf' his han'--so--en gallop on. I
know'd den dat trouble wuz brewin'. Nigger dat knows he's
gwineter git thumped kin sorter fix hisse'f, en I tuck'n fix up
like de war wuz gwineter come right in at de front gate. I tuck'n
got all de cattle en hosses tergedder en driv' um ter de fo'-mile
place, en I tuck all de corn en fodder en w'eat, en put um in a
crib out dar in de woods; en I bilt me a pen in de swamp, en dar
I put de hogs. Den, w'en I fix all dis, I put on my Sunday cloze
en groun' my axe. Two whole days I groun' dat axe. De grinestone
wuz in sight er de gate en close ter de big 'ouse, en dar I tuck
my stan'.
"Bimeby one day, yer come de Yankees. Two un um come fus, en
den de whole face er de yeath swawm'd wid um. De fus glimpse I
kotch un um, I tuck my axe en march inter Ole Miss settin'-room.
She done had de sidebo'd move in dar, en I wish I may drap ef
'twuzn't fa'rly blazin' wid silver--silver cups en silver
sassers, silver plates en silver dishes, silver mugs en silver
pitchers. Look like ter me dey wuz fixin' fer a weddin'. Dar sot
Ole Miss des ez prim en ez proud ez ef she own de whole county.
Dis kinder ho'p me up, kaze I done seed Ole Miss look dat away
once befo' w'en de overseer struck me in de face wid a w'ip. I
sot down by de fier wid my axe tween my knees. Dar we sot w'iles
de Yankees ransack de place. Miss Sally, dar, she got sorter
restless, but Ole Miss didn't skasely bat 'er eyes. Bimeby, we
hear steps on de peazzer, en yer come a couple er young fellers
wid strops on der shoulders, en der sodes a draggin' on de flo',
en der spurrers a rattlin'. I won't say I wuz skeer'd," said
Uncle Remus, as though endeavoring to recall something he failed
to remember, "I won't say I wuz skeer'd, kaze I wuzzent; but I
wuz took'n wid a mighty funny feelin' in de naberhood er de
gizzard. Dey wuz mighty perlite, dem young chaps wuz; but Ole
Miss, she never tu'n 'er head, en Miss Sally, she look straight
at de fier. Bimeby one un um see me, en he say, sezee:
"'Hello, ole man, w'at you doin' in yer?' sezee.
"'Well, boss,' sez I, 'I bin cuttin' some wood fer Ole Miss, en I
des stop fer ter worn my han's a little,' sez I.
"'Hit is col', dat's a fack,' sezee.
"Wid dat I got up en tuck my stan' behime Ole Miss en Miss Sally,
en de man w'at speak, he went up en worn his han's. Fus thing you
know, he raise up sudden, en say, sezee:
"'W'at dat on yo' axe?'
"'Dat's de fier shinin' on it,' sez I.
"'Hit look like blood,' sezee, en den he laft.
"But, bless yo' soul, dat man wouldn't never laft dat day ef he'd
know'd de wukkins er Remus's mine. But dey didn't bodder nobody
ner tech nuthin', en bimeby dey put out. Well, de Yankees, dey
kep' passin' all de mawnin' en it look like ter me dey wuz a
string un um ten mile long. Den dey commence gittin' thinner en
thinner, en den atter w'ile we hear skummishin' in de naberhood
er Armer's fe'y, en Ole Miss 'low how dat wuz Wheeler's men
makin' persoot. Mars Jeems wuz wid dem Wheeler fellers, en I
know'd ef dey wuz dat close I wa'n't doin' no good settin' 'roun'
de house toas'n my shins at de fier, so I des tuck Mars Jeems's
rifle fum behime de do' en put out ter look atter my stock.
"Seem like I ain't never see no raw day like dat, needer befo'
ner sence. Dey wa'n't no rain, but de wet des sifted down; mighty
raw day. De leaves on de groun' 'uz so wet dey don't make no
fuss, en I got in de woods, en w'enever I year de Yankees gwine
by, I des stop in my tracks en let un pass. I wuz stan'in' dat
away in de aidge er de woods lookin' out cross a clearin', w'en--
piff!--out come a little bunch er blue smoke fum de top er wunner
dem big lonesome-lookin' pines, en den--pow!
"Sez I ter myse'f, sez I: 'Honey, you er right on my route, en
I'll des see w'at kinder bird you got roostin' in you,' en w'iles
I wuz a lookin' out bus' de smoke--piff! en den--bang! Wid dat I
des drapt back inter de woods, en sorter skeerted 'roun' so's ter
git de tree 'twixt' me en de road. I slid up putty close, en
wadder you speck I see? Des ez sho's you er settin' dar lissenin'
dey wuz a live Yankee up dar in dat tree, en he wuz a loadin' en
a shootin' at de boys des ez cool es a cowcumber in de jew, en he
had his hoss hitch out in de bushes, kaze I year de creetur
tromplin' 'roun'. He had a spy-glass up dar, en w'iles I wuz a
watchin' un 'im, he raise 'er up en look thoo 'er, en den he lay
'er down en fix his gun fer ter shoot.
"I had good eyes in dem days, ef I ain't got um now, en way up de
big road I see Mars Jeems a comm'. Hit wuz too fur fer ter see
his face, but I know'd 'im by de filly w'at I raise fer 'im, en
she wuz a prancin' like a school-gal. I know'd dat man wuz
gwineter shoot Mars Jeems ef he could, en dat wuz mo'n I could
stan'. Many's en many's de time dat I nuss dat boy, en hilt 'im
in dese arms, en toted 'im on dis back, en w'en I see dat Yankee
lay dat gun 'cross a lim' en take aim at Mars Jeems I up wid my
ole rifle, en shet my eyes en let de man have all she had."
"Do you mean to say," exclaimed Miss Theodosia, indignantly,
"that you shot the Union soldier, when you knew he was fighting
for your freedom?"
"Co'se, I know all about dat," responded Uncle Remus, "en it
sorter made col' chills run up my back; but w'en I see dat man
take aim, en Mars Jeems gwine home ter Ole Miss en Miss Sally, I
des disremembered all 'bout freedom en lammed aloose. En den
atter dat, me en Miss Sally tuck en nuss de man right straight
along. He los' one arm in dat tree bizness, but me en Miss Sally
we nuss 'im en we nuss 'im twel he done got well. Des 'bout dat
time I quit nuss'n 'im, but Miss Sally she kep' on. She kep' on,"
continued Uncle Remus, pointing to Mr. Huntingdon, "en now dar he
is."
"But you cost him an arm," exclaimed Miss Theodosia.
"I gin 'im dem," said Uncle Remus, pointing to Mrs. Huntingdon,
"en I gin 'im deze"--holding up his own brawny arms. "En ef dem
ain't nuff fer enny man den I done los' de way."
HIS SAYINGS
I. JEEMS ROBER'SON'S LAST ILLNESS
A Jonesboro negro, while waiting for the train to go out, met up
with Uncle Remus. After the usual "time of day" had been passed
between the two, the former inquired about an acquaintance.
"How's Jeems Rober'son?" he asked.
"Ain't you year 'bout Jim?" asked Uncle Remus.
"Dat I ain't," responded the other; "I ain't hear talk er Jem
sence he cut loose fum de chain-gang. Dat w'at make I ax. He
ain't down wid de biliousness, is he?"
"Not dat I knows un," responded Uncle Remus, gravely. "He ain't
sick, an' he ain't bin sick. He des tuck'n say he wuz gwineter
ride dat ar roan mule er Mars John's de udder Sunday, an' de
mule, she up'n do like she got nudder ingagement. I done bin fool
wid dat mule befo', an' I tuck'n tole Jim dat he better not git
tangle up wid 'er; but Jim, he up'n 'low dat he wuz a hoss-
doctor, an' wid dat he ax me fer a chaw terbacker, en den he got
de bridle, en tuck'n kotch de mule en got on her--Well,"
continued Uncle Remus, looking uneasily around, "I speck you
better go git yo' ticket. Dey tells me dish yer train goes a
callyhootin'."
"Hol' on dar, Uncle Remus; you ain't tell me 'bout Jim,"
exclaimed the Jonesboro negro.
"I done tell you all I knows, chile. Jim, he tuck'n light on de
mule, an' de mule she up'n hump 'erse'f, an den dey wuz a
skuffle, an' w'en de dus' blow 'way, dar lay de nigger on de
groun', an' de mule she stood eatin' at de troff wid wunner Jim's
gallusses wrop 'roun' her behime-leg. Den atterwuds, de ker'ner,
he come 'roun', an' he tuck'n gin it out dat Jim died sorter
accidental like. Hit's des like I tell you: de nigger wern't sick
a minnit. So long! Bimeby you won't ketch yo' train. I got ter be
knockin' long."
II. UNCLE REMUS'S CHURCH EXPERIENCE
THE deacon of a colored church met Uncle Remus recently, and,
after some uninteresting remarks about the weather, asked:
"How dis you don't come down ter chu'ch no mo', Brer Remus? We
er bin er havin' some mighty 'freshen' times lately."
"Hit's bin a long time sence I bin down dar, Brer Rastus, an'
hit'll be longer. I done got my dose."
"You ain't done gone an' unjined, is you, Brer Remus?"
"Not zackly, Brer Rastus. I des tuck'n draw'd out. De members 'uz
a blame sight too mutuel fer ter suit my doctrines."
"How wuz dat, Brer Remus?"
"Well, I tell you, Brer Rastus. W'en I went ter dat chu'ch, I
went des ez umbill ez de nex' one. I went dar fer ter sing, an'
fer ter pray, an' fer ter wushup, an' I mos' giner'lly allers had
a stray shin-plarster w'ich de ole 'oman say she want sont out
dar ter dem cullud fokes 'cross de water. Hit went on dis way
twel bimeby, one day, de fus news I know'd der was a row got up
in de amen cornder. Brer Dick, he 'nounced dat dey wern't nuff
money in de box; an' Brer Sim said if dey wern't he speck Brer
Dick know'd whar it disappeared ter; an' den Brer Dick 'low'd dat
he won't stan' no 'probusness, an' wid dat he haul off an' tuck
Brer Sim under de jaw--ker blap!--an' den dey clinched an'
drapped on de flo' an' fout under de benches an' 'mong de wimmen.
"'Bout dat time Sis Tempy, she lipt up in de a'r, an' sing out
dat she done gone an tromple on de Ole Boy, an' she kep' on
lippin' up an' slingin' out 'er han's twel bimeby--blip!--she
tuck Sis Becky in de mouf, an' den Sis Becky riz an' fetch a grab
at Sis Tempy, an' I 'clar' ter grashus ef didn't 'pear ter me
like she got a poun' er wool. Atter dat de revivin' sorter het up
like. Bofe un um had kin 'mong de mo'ners, an' ef you ever see
skufflin' an' scramblin' hit wuz den an' dar. Brer Jeems Henry,
he mounted Brer Plato an' rid 'im over de railin', an' den de
preacher he start down fum de pulpit, an' des ez he wuz skippin'
onter de platform a hym'-book kotch 'im in de bur er de year, an
I be bless ef it didn't soun' like a bung-shell'd busted. Des
den, Brer Jesse, he riz up in his seat, sorter keerless like, an'
went down inter his britches atter his razer, an' right den I
know'd sho' nuff trubble wuz begun. Sis Dilsey, she seed it
herse'f, an' she tuck'n let off wunner dem hallyluyah hollers,
an' den I disremember w'at come ter pass.
"I'm gittin' sorter ole, Brer Rastus, an' it seem like de dus'
sorter shet out de pannyrammer. Fuddermo', my lim's got ter akin,
mo' speshully w'en I year Brer Sim an' Brer Dick a snortin' and a
skufflin' under de benches like ez dey wuz sorter makin' der way
ter my pew. So I kinder hump myse'f an' scramble out, and de fus
man w'at I seed was a pleeceman, an' he had a nigger 'rested, an'
de fergiven name er dat nigger wuz Remus."
"He didn't 'res' you, did he, Brer Remus?"
"Hit's des like I tell you, Brer Rastus, an' I hatter git Mars
John fer to go inter my bon's fer me. Hit ain't no use fer ter
sing out chu'ch ter me, Brer Rastus. I done bin an' got my dose.
W'en I goes ter war, I wanter know w'at I'm a doin'. I don't
wanter git hemmed up 'mong no wimmen and preachers. I wants
elbow-room, an I'm bleedzd ter have it. Des gimme elbow-room."
"But, Brer Remus, you ain't--"
"I mout drap in, Brer Rastus, an' den ag'in I moutn't, but w'en
you duz see me santer in de do', wid my specs on, you k'n des say
to de congergashun, sorter familious like, 'Yer come ole man
Remus wid his hoss-pistol, an' ef dar's much uv a skuffle 'roun'
yer dis evenin' you er gwineter year fum 'im.' Dat's me, an'
dat's what you kin tell um. So long! Member me to Sis Abby."
III. UNCLE REMUS AND THE SAVANNAH DARKEY
THE notable difference existing between the negroes in the
interior of the cotton States and those on the seaboard--a
difference that extends to habits and opinions as well as to
dialect--has given rise to certain ineradicable prejudices which
are quick to display themselves whenever an opportunity offers.
These prejudices were forcibly, as well as ludicrously,
illustrated in Atlanta recently. A gentleman from Savannah had
been spending the summer in the mountains of north Georgia, and
found it convenient to take along a body-servant. This body-
servant was a very fine specimen of the average coast negro--
sleek, well-conditioned, and consequential--disposed to regard
with undisguised contempt everything and everybody not indigenous
to the rice-growing region--and he paraded around the streets
with quite a curious and critical air. Espying Uncle Remus
languidly sunning himself on a corner, the Savannah darkey
approached.
"Mornin', sah."
"I'm sorter up an' about," responded Uncle Remus, carelessly and
calmly. "How is you stannin' it?"
"Tanky you, my helt' mos' so-so. He mo' hot dun in de mountain.
Seem so lak man mus' git need*1 de shade. I enty fer see no
rice-bud in dis pa'ts."
"In dis w'ich?" inquired Uncle with a sudden affectation of
interest.
"In dis pa'ts. In dis country. Da plenty in Sawanny."
"Plenty whar?"
"Da plenty in Sawanny. I enty fer see no crab an' no oscher; en
swimp, he no stay 'roun'. I lak some rice-bud now."
"You er talkin' 'bout deze yer sparrers, w'ich dey er all head,
en 'lev'm un makes one mouffle,*2 I speck," suggested Uncle
Remus. "Well, dey er yer," he continued, "but dis ain't no
climate whar de rice-birds flies inter yo' pockets en gits out de
money an' makes de change derse'f; an' de isters don't shuck off
der shells en run over you on de street, an' no mo' duz de s'imp
hull derse'f an' drap in yo' mouf. But dey er yer, dough. De
scads 'll fetch um."
"Him po' country fer true," commented the Savannah negro; "he no
like Sawanny. Down da, we set need de shade an' eaty de rice-bud,
an' de crab, an' de swimp tree time de day; an' de buckra man
drinky him wine, an' smoky him seegyar all troo de night. Plenty
fer eat an' not much fer wuk."
"Hit's mighty nice, I speck," responded Uncle Remus, gravely. "De
nigger dat ain't hope up 'longer high feedin' ain't got no grip.
But up yer whar fokes is gotter scramble 'roun' an' make der own
livin', de vittles w'at's kumerlated widout enny sweatin' mos'
allers gener'ly b'longs ter some yuther man by rights. One hoe-
cake an' a rasher er middlin' meat las's me fum Sunday ter
Sunday, an' I'm in a mighty big streak er luck w'en I gits dat."
The Savannah negro here gave utterance to a loud, contemptuous
laugh, and began to fumble somewhat ostentatiously with a big
brass watch-chain.
"But I speck I struck up wid a payin' job las' Chuseday,"
continued Uncle Remus, in a hopeful tone.
"Wey you gwan do?"
"Oh, I'm a waitin' on a culled gemmun fum Savannah--wunner deze
yer high livers you bin tellin' 'bout."
"How dat?"
"I loant 'im two dollars," responded Uncle Remus, grimly, "an'
I'm a waitin' on 'im fer de money. Hit's wunner deze yer jobs
w'at las's a long time."
The Savannah negro went off after his rice-birds, while Uncle
Remus leaned up against the wall and laughed until he was in
imminent danger of falling down from sheer exhaustion.
*1 Underneath.
*2 Mouthful.
TURNIP SALAD AS A TEXT
As Uncle Remus was going down the street recently he was
accosted by several acquaintances.
"Heyo!" said one, "here comes Uncle Remus. He look like he gwine
fer ter set up a bo'din-house."
Several others bantered the old man, but he appeared to be in a
good humor. He was carrying a huge basket of vegetables.
"How many er you boys," said he, as he put his basket down, "is
done a han's turn dis day? En yit de week's done commence. I year
talk er niggers dat's got money in de bank, but I lay hit ain't
none er you fellers. Whar you speck you gwineter git yo' dinner,
en how you speck you gwineter git 'long?"
"Oh, we sorter knocks 'roun' an' picks up a livin'," responded
one.
"Dat's w'at make I say w'at I duz," said Uncle Remus. "Fokes go
'bout in de day-time an' makes a livin', an' you come 'long w'en
dey er res'in' der bones an' picks it up. I ain't no han' at
figgers, but I lay I k'n count up right yer in de san' en number
up how menny days hit'll be 'fo' you 'er cuppled on ter de chain-
gang."
"De ole man's holler'n now sho'," said one of the listeners,
gazing with admiration on the venerable old darkey.
"I ain't takin' no chances 'bout vittles. Hit's proned inter me
fum de fus dat I got ter eat, en I knows dat I got fer ter grub
for w'at I gits. Hit's agin de mor'l law fer niggers fer ter eat
w'en dey don't wuk, an' w'en you see um 'pariently fattenin' on
a'r, you k'n des bet dat ruinashun's gwine on some'rs. I got
mustard, en poke salid, en lam's quarter in dat baskit, en me en
my ole 'oman gwineter sample it. Ef enny you boys git a invite
you come, but ef you don't you better stay 'way. I gotter muskit
out dar w'at's used ter persidin' 'roun' whar dey's a cripple
nigger. Don't you fergit dat off'n yo' mine."
V. A CONFESSION
"W'AT'S dis yer I see, great big niggers gwine 'lopin' 'roun'
town wid cakes 'n pies fer ter sell?" asked Uncle Remus recently,
in his most scornful tone.
"That's what they are doing," responded a young man; "that's the
way they make a living."
"Dat w'at make I say w'at I duz--dat w'at keep me grum'lin' w'en
I goes in cullud fokes s'ciety. Some niggers ain't gwine ter wuk
nohow, an' hit's flingin' way time fer ter set enny chain-gang
traps fer ter ketch um."
"Well, now, here!" exclaimed the young man, in a dramatic tone,
"what are you giving us now? Isn't it just as honest and just as
regular to sell pies as it is to do any other kind of work?"
"'Tain't dat, boss:' said the old man, seeing that he was about
to be cornered; 'tain't dat. Hit's de nas'ness un it w'at gits
me."
"Oh, get out!"
"Dat's me, boss, up an' down. Ef dere's ruinashun ennywhar in de
known wurril, she goes in de comp'ny uv a hongry nigger w'at's a
totin' pies 'roun.' Sometimes w'en I git kotch wid emptiness in
de pit er de stummuck, an' git ter fairly honin' arter sumpin'
w'at got substance in it, den hit look like unto me dat I kin
stan' flat-footed an' make more cle'r money eatin' pies dan I
could if I wuz ter sell de las' one 'twixt dis an' Chris'mus. An'
de nigger w'at k'n trapes 'round wid pies and not git in no
alley-way an' sample um, den I'm bleedzd ter say dat nigger out-
niggers me an' my fambly. So dar now!"
VI. UNCLE REMUS WITH THE TOOTHACHE
WHEN Uncle Remus put in an appearance one morning recently,
his friends knew he had been in trouble. He had a red cotton
handkerchief tied under his chin, and the genial humor that
usually makes his aged face its dwelling-place had given way to
an expression of grim melancholy. The young men about the office
were inclined to chaff him, but his look of sullen resignation
remained unchanged.
"What revival did you attend last night?" inquired one.
"What was the color of the mule that did the hammering?" asked
another.
"I always told the old man that a suburban chicken coop would
fall on him," remarked some one.
"A strange pig has been squealing in his ear," suggested some one
else.
But Uncle Remus remained impassive. He seemed to have lost all
interest in what was going on around him, and he sighed heavily
as he seated himself on the edge of the trash-box in front of the
office. Finally some one asked, in a sympathetic tone:
"What is the matter, old man? You look like you'd been through
the mill."
"Now you 'er knockin'. I ain't bin thoo de mill sence day 'fo'
yistiddy, den dey ain't no mills in de lan'. Ef wunner deze yer
scurshun trains had runned over me I couldn't er bin wuss off. I
bin trompin' 'roun' in de lowgroun's now gwine on seventy-fi'
year, but I ain't see no sich times ez dat w'at I done spe'unst
now. Boss, is enny er you all ever rastled wid de toofache?"
"Oh, hundreds of times! The toothache isn't anything."
"Den you des played 'roun' de aidges. You ain't had de kine w'at
kotch me on de underjaw. You mout a had a gum-bile, but you
ain't bin boddered wid de toofache. I wuz settin' up talkin' wid
my ole 'oman, kinder puzzlin' 'roun' fer ter see whar de nex'
meal's vittles wuz a gwineter cum fum, an' I feel a little ache
sorter crawlin' 'long on my jaw-bone, kinder feelin' his way. But
de ache don't stay long. He sorter hankered 'roun' like, en den
crope back whar he come fum. Bimeby I feel 'im comin' agin, an'
dis time hit look like he come up closer--kinder skummishin'
'roun' fer ter see how de lan' lay. Den he went off. Present'y I
feel 'im comin', an' dis time hit look like he kyar'd de news
unto Mary, fer hit feel like der wuz anudder wun wid 'im. Dey
crep' up an' crep' 'roun', an, den dey crope off. Bimeby dey come
back, an' dis time dey come like dey wuzzent 'fear'd er de
s'roundin's, fer dey trot right up unto de toof, sorter 'zamine
it like, an' den trot all roun' it, like deze yer circuous
hosses. I sot dar mighty ca'm, but I 'spected dat sump'n' wuz
gwine ter happ'n."
"And it happened, did it?" asked some one in the group
surrounding the old man.
"Boss, don't you fergit it," responded Uncle Remus, fervidly.
"W'en dem aches gallop back dey galloped fer ter stay, an' dey
wuz so mixed up dat I couldn't tell one fum de udder. All night
long dey racked an' dey galloped, an' w'en dey got tired er
rackin' an' gallopin', dey all close in on de ole toof an'
thumped it an' gouged at it twel it 'peared unto me dat dey had
got de jaw-bone loosened up, an' wuz tryin' fer ter fetch it up
thoo de top er my head an' out at der back er my neck. An' dey
got wuss nex' day. Mars John, he seed I wuz 'stracted, an' he
tole me fer ter go roun' yere an' git sump'n' put on it, an' de
drug man he 'lowed dat I better have 'er draw'd, an' his wuds
wuzzent more'n col' 'fo' wunner deze yer watchyoumaycollums--
wunner deze dentis' mens--had retched fer it wid a pa'r er tongs
w'at don't tu'n loose w'en dey ketches a holt. Leas'ways dey
didn't wid me. You oughter seed dat toof, boss. Hit wuz wunner
deze yer fo'-prong fellers. Ef she'd a grow'd wrong eend out'ard,
I'd a bin a bad nigger long arter I jin'd de chu'ch. You year'd
my ho'n!"
VII. THE PHONOGRAPH
"UNC REMUS," asked a tall, awkward-looking negro, who was one of
a crowd surrounding the old man, "w'at's dish 'ere w'at dey calls
de fonygraf--dish yer inst'ument w'at kin holler 'roun' like
little chillun in de back yard?"
"I ain't seed um," said Uncle Remus, feeling in his pocket for a
fresh chew of tobacco. "I ain't seed um, but I year talk un um.
Miss Sally wuz a readin' in de papers las' Chuseday, an' she say
dat's it's a mighty big watchyoumaycollum."
"A mighty big w'ich?" asked one of the crowd.
"A mighty big w'atsizname," answered Uncle Remus, cautiously. "I
wuzzent up dar close to whar Miss Sarah wuz a readin', but I
kinder geddered in dat it wuz one er deze 'ere w'atzisnames w'at
you hollers inter one year an it comes out er de udder. Hit's
mighty funny unter me how dese fokes kin go an' prognosticate der
eckoes inter one er deze yer i'on boxes, an' dar hit'll stay on
twel de man comes long an' tu'ns de handle an' let's de fuss come
pilin' out. Bimeby dey'll git ter makin' sho' nuff fokes, an' den
dere'll be a racket 'roun' here. Dey tells me dat it goes off
like one er deze yer torpedoes."
"You year dat, don't you?" said one or two of the younger
negroes.
"Dat's w'at dey tells me," continued Uncle Remus. "Dat's w'at dey
sez. Hit's one er deze yer kinder w'atzisnames w'at sasses back
w'en you hollers at it."
"W'at dey fix um fer, den?" asked one of the practical negroes.
"Dat's w'at I wanter know," said Uncle Remus, contemplatively.
"But dat's w'at Miss Sally wuz a readin' in de paper. All you
gotter do is ter holler at de box, an' dar's yo' remarks. Dey
goes in, an' dar dey er tooken and dar dey hangs on twel you
shakes de box, an' den dey draps out des ez fresh ez deze yer
fishes w'at you git fum Savannah, an' you ain't got time fer ter
look at dere gills, nudder."
VIII. RACE IMPROVEMENT
"Dere's a kind er limberness 'bout niggers dese days dat's mighty
cu'us," remarked Uncle Remus yesterday, as he deposited a pitcher
of fresh water upon the exchange table. "I notisses it in de
alley-ways an on de street-cornders. Dey er rackin' up, mon, deze
yer cullud fokes is."
"What are you trying to give us now?" inquired one of the young
men, in a bilious tone.
"The old man's mind is wandering," said the society editor,
smoothing the wrinkles out of his lavender kids.
Uncle Remus laughed. I speck I is a gittin' mo frailer dan I wuz
'fo' de fahmin days wuz over, but I sees wid my eyes an' I years
wid my year, same ez enny er dese yer young bucks w'at goes a
gallopin' roun' huntin' up devilment, an' w'en I sees de
limberness er dese yer cullud people, an' w'en I sees how dey er
dancin' up, den I gits sorter hopeful. Dey er kinder ketchin' up
wid me."
"How is that?"
"Oh, dey er movin'," responded Uncle Remus. "Dey er sorter comin'
'roun'. Dey er gittin' so dey bleeve dat dey ain't no better dan
de w'ite fokes. W'en freedom come out de niggers sorter got dere
humps up, an' dey staid dat way, twel bimeby dey begun fer ter
git hongry, an' den dey begun fer ter drap inter line right
smartually; an' now," continued the old man, emphatically, "dey
er des ez palaverous ez dey wuz befo' de war. Dey er gittin' on
solid groun', mon."
"You think they are improving, then?"
"You er chawin' guv'nment now, boss. You slap de law onter a
nigger a time er two, an' larn 'im dat he's got fer to look after
his own rashuns an' keep out'n udder fokes's chick'n-coops, an'
sorter coax 'im inter de idee dat he's got ter feed 'is own
chilluns, an' I be blessed ef you ain't got 'im on risin' groun'.
An', mo'n dat, w'en he gits holt er de fack dat a nigger k'n have
yaller fever same ez w'ite folks, you done got 'im on de mo'ners'
bench, an' den ef you come down strong on de p'int dat he oughter
stan' fas' by de fokes w'at hope him w'en he wuz in trouble de
job's done. W'en you does dat, ef you ain't got yo' han's on a
new-made nigger, den my name ain't Remus, an' ef dat name's bin
changed I ain't seen her abbertized."
IX. IN THE ROLE OF A TARTAR
A CHARLESTON negro who was in Atlanta on the Fourth of July made
a mistake. He saw Uncle Remus edging his way through the crowd,
and thought he knew him.
"Howdy, Daddy Ben?" the stranger exclaimed. "I tink I nubber see
you no mo'. Wey you gwan? He hot fer true, ain't he?"
"Daddy who?" asked Uncle Remus, straightening himself up with
dignity. "W'ich?"
"I know you in Char'son, an' den in Sewanny. I spec I dun grow
away from 'membrance."
"You knowed me in Charlstun, and den in Savanny?"
"He been long time, ain't he, Daddy Ben?"
"Dat's w'at's a pesterin' un me. How much you reckon you know'd
me?"
"He good while pas'; when I wer' pickaninny. He long time ago.
Wey you gwan, Daddy Ben?"
"W'at does you season your recollection wid fer ter make it hol'
on so?" inquired the old man.
"I dunno. He stick hese'f. I see you comin' 'long 'n I say 'Dey
Daddy Ben.' I tink I see you no mo', an' I shaky you by de han'.
Wey you gwan? Dey no place yer wey we git wine?"
Uncle Remus stared at the strange darkey curiously for a moment,
and then he seized him by the arm.
"Come yer, son, whar dey ain't no folks an' lemme drap some
Jawjy 'intment in dem years er yone. You er mighty fur ways fum
home, an' you wanter be a lookin' out fer yo'se'f. Fus and
fo'mus, you er thumpin' de wrong watermillion. You er w'isslin'
up de wrong chube. I ain't tromped roun' de country much. I ain't
bin to Charlstun an' needer is I tuck in Savanny; but you
couldn't rig up no game on me dat I wouldn't tumble on to it de
minit I laid my eyeballs on you. W'en hit come to dat I'm ole man
Tumbler, fum Tumblersville--I is dat. Hit takes one er deze yer
full-blooded w'ite men fur ter trap my jedgment. But w'en a
nigger comes a jabberin' 'roun' like he got a mouf full er rice
straw, he ain't got no mo' chance long side er me dan a sick
sparrer wid a squinch-owl. You gutter travel wid a circus 'fo'
you gits away wid me. You better go long an' git yo' kyarpet-sack
and skip de town. You er de freshest nigger w'at I seen yit."
The Charleston negro passed on just as a police-man' came up.
"Boss, you see dat smart Ellick?"
"Yes, what's the matter with him?"
"He's one er deze yer scurshun niggers from Charlstun. I seed you
a-stannin' over agin de cornder yander, an' ef dat nigger'd a
draw'd his monty kyards on me, I wuz a gwineter holler fer you.
Would you er come, boss?"
"Why, certainly, Uncle Remus."
"Dat's w'at I 'low'd. Little more'n he'd a bin aboard er de wrong
waggin. Dat's w'at he'd a bin."
X. A CASE OF MEASLES
"YOU'VE been looking like you were rather under the weather for
the past week or two, Uncle Remus," said a gentleman to the old
man.
"You'd be sorter puny, too, boss, if you'd er bin whar I bin."
"Where have you been?"
"Pear ter me like eve'ybody done year 'bout dat. Dey ain't no ole
nigger my age an' size dat's had no rattliner time dan I is."
"A kind of picnic?"
"Go long, boss! w'at you speck I be doin' sailin' 'roun' ter dese
yer cullud picnics? Much mo' an' I wouldn't make bread by wukkin'
fer't, let 'lone follerin' up a passel er boys an' gals all over
keration. Boss, ain't you year 'bout it, sho' 'nuff?"
"I haven't, really. What was the matter?"
"I got strucken wid a sickness, an' she hit de ole nigger a joe-
darter 'fo' she tu'n 'im loose."
"What kind of sickness?"
"Hit look sorter cu'ous, boss, but ole an' steddy ez I is, I
tuck'n kotch de meezles."
"Oh, get out! You are trying to get up a sensation."
"Hit's a natal fack, boss, I declar' ter grashus ef 'tain't. Dey
sorter come on wid a col', like--leas'ways dat's how I commence
fer ter suffer, an' den er koff got straddle er de col'--one dese
yer koffs w'at look like hit goes ter de foundash'n. I kep' on
linger'n' 'roun' sorter keepin' one eye on the rheumatiz an' de
udder on de distemper, twel, bimeby, I begin fer ter feel de
trestle-wuk give way, an' den I des know'd dat I wuz gwineter
gitter racket. I slipt inter bed one Chuseday night, an' I never
slip out no mo' fer mighty nigh er mont'.
"Nex' mornin' de meezles 'd done kivered me, an' den ef I didn't
git dosted by de ole 'oman I'm a Chinee. She gimme back rashuns
er sassafac tea. I des natchully hankered an' got hongry atter
water, an ev'y time I sing out fer water I got b'ilin' hot
sassafac tea. Hit got so dat w'en I wake up in de mornin' de ole
'oman 'd des come long wid a kittle er tea an' fill me up. Dey
tells me 'roun' town dat chilluns don't git hurted wid de
meezles, w'ich ef dey don't I wanter be a baby de nex' time dey
hits dis place. All dis yer meezles bizness is bran'-new ter me.
In ole times, 'fo' de wah, I ain't heer tell er no seventy-fi'-
year-ole nigger grapplin' wid no meezles. Dey ain't ketchin' no
mo', is dey, boss?"
"Oh, no--I suppose not."
"'Kase ef dey is, you k'n des put my name down wid de migrashun
niggers."
XI. THE EMIGRANTS
WHEN Uncle Remus went down to the passenger depot one morning
recently, the first sight that caught his eye was an old negro
man, a woman, and two children sitting in the shade near the
door of the baggage-room. One of the children was very young,
and the quartet was altogether ragged and forlorn-looking.
The sympathies of Uncle Remus were immediately aroused. He
approached the group by forced marches, and finally unburdened
his curiosity.
"Whar is you m'anderin' unter, pard?"
The old negro, who seemed to be rather suspicious, looked at
Uncle Remus coolly, and appeared to be considering whether he
should make any reply. Finally, however, he stretched himself and
said:
"We er gwine down in de naberhoods er Tallypoosy, an we ain't
makin' no fuss 'bout it, nudder."
"I disremember," said Uncle Remus, thoughtfully, "whar Tallypoosy
is."
"Oh, hit's out yan," replied the old man, motioning his head as
if it was just beyond the iron gates of the depot. "Hit's down in
Alabam. When we git dar, maybe well go on twel we gits ter
Massasip."
"Is you got enny folks out dar?" inquired Uncle Remus.
"None dat I knows un."
"An' you er takin' dis 'oman an' deze chillun out dar whar dey
dunno nobody? Whar's yo' perwisions?" eying a chest with a rope
around it.
"Dem's our bedcloze," the old negro explained, noticing the
glance of Uncle Remus. "All de vittles what we got we e't 'fo' we
started."
"An' you speck ter retch dar safe an soun'? Whar's yo' ticket?"
"Ain't got none. De man say ez how dey'd pass us thoo. I gin a
man a fi'-dollar bill 'fo' I lef' Jonesboro, an' he sed dat
settled it."
"Lemme tell you dis," said Uncle Remus, straightening up
indignantly: "you go an' rob somebody an' git on de chain-gang,
an' let de 'oman scratch 'roun' yer an' make 'er livin'; but
don't you git on dem kyars--don't you do it. Yo' bes' holt is de
chain-gang. You kin make yo' livin' dar w'en you can't make it no
whars else. But don't you git on dem kyars. Ef you do, you er
gone nigger. Ef you ain't got no money fer ter walk back wid, you
better des b'il' yo' nes' right here. I'm a-talkin' wid de bark
on. I done seed deze yer Arkinsaw emmygrants come lopin' back,
an' some un 'em didn't have rags nuff on 'em fer ter hide dere
nakidness. You leave dat box right whar she is, an, let de 'oman
take wun young un an you take de udder wun, an' den you git in de
middle er de big road an' pull out fer de place whar you come
fum. I'm preachin' now."
Those who watched say the quartet didn't take the cars.
XII. AS A MURDERER
UNCLE Remus met a police officer recently.
"You ain't hear talk er no dead nigger nowhar dis mawnin', is
you, boss?" asked the old man earnestly.
"No," replied the policeman, reflectively. "No, I believe not.
Have you heard of any?"
"'Pears unter me dat I come mighty nigh gittin' some news bout
dat size, an' dat's w'at I'm a huntin' fer. Bekaze ef dey er
foun' a stray nigger layin' 'roun' loose, wid 'is bref gone, den
I wanter go home an' git my brekfus' an' put on some clean cloze,
an' 'liver myse'f up ter wunner deze yer jestesses er de peace,
an git a fa'r trial."
"Why, have you killed anybody?"
"Dat's w'at's I'm a 'quirin' inter now, but I wouldn't be
sustonished ef I ain't laid a nigger out some'rs on de subbubs.
Hit's done got so it's agin de law fer ter bus' loose an' kill a
nigger, ain't it, boss?"
"Well, I should say so. You don't mean to tell me that you have
killed a colored man, do you?"
"I speck I is, boss. I speck I done gone an' done it dis time,
sho.' Hit's bin sorter growin' on me, an' it come ter a head dis
mawnin', 'less my name ain't Remus, an' dat's w'at dey bin er
callin' me sence I wuz ole er 'nuff fer ter scratch myse'f wid my
lef' han'."
"Well, if you've killed a man, you'll have some fun, sure enough.
How was it?"
"Hit wuz dis way, boss: I wuz layin' in my bed dis mawnin' sorter
ruminatin' 'roun', when de fus news I know'd I year a fus' 'mong
de chickens, an' den my brissels riz. I done had lots er trubble
wid dem chickens, an' w'en I years wun un um squall my ve'y shoes
comes ontied. So I des sorter riz up an' retch fer my ole muskit,
and den I crope out er de back do', an' w'atter you reckin I
seed?"
"I couldn't say."
"I seed de biggest, blackest nigger dat you ever laid eyes on. He
shined like de paint on 'im was fresh. He hed done grabbed fo' er
my forwardes' pullets. I crope up nigh de do', an' hollered an'
axed 'im how he wuz a gittin' on, an' den he broke, an' ez he
broke I jammed de gun in de small er his back and banged aloose.
He let a yell like forty yaller cats a courtin', an' den he
broke. You ain't seed no nigger hump hisse'f like dat nigger. He
tore down de well shelter and fo' pannils er fence, an' de groun'
look like wunner deze yer harrycanes had lit dar and fanned up de
yeath."
"Why, I thought you killed him?"
"He bleedzed ter be dead, boss. Ain't I put de gun right on 'im?
Seem like I feel 'im give way w'en she went off."
"Was the gun loaded?"
"Dat's w'at my ole 'oman say. She had de powder in dar, sho', but
I disremember wedder I put de buckshot in, er wedder I lef' um
out. Leas'ways, I'm gwineter call on wunner deze yer jestesses.
So long, boss."
XIII. HIS PRACTICAL VIEW OF THINGS
"BRER REMUS, is you heern tell er deze doin's out yer in de
udder eend er town?" asked a colored deacon of the church the
other day.
"W'at doin's is dat, Brer Ab?"
"Deze yer signs an' wunders whar dat cullud lady died day 'fo'
yistiddy. Mighty quare goin's on out dar, Brer Remus, sho's you
bawn."
"Sperrits?" inquired Uncle Remus, sententiously.
"Wuss'n dat, Brer Remus. Some say dat jedgment day ain't fur off,
an' de folks is flockin' 'roun' de house a hollerin' an' a-
shoutin' des like dey wuz in er revival. In de winder glass dar
you kin see de flags a flyin', an' Jacob's lather is dar, an'
dar's writin' on de pane w'at no man can't read--leas'wise dey
ain't none read it yit."
"W'at kinder racket is dis you er givin' un me now, Brer Ab?"
"I done bin dar, Brer Remus; I done seed um wid bofe my eyes.
Cullud lady what wuz intranced done woke up an' say dey ain't
much time fer ter tarry. She say she meet er angel in de road,
an' he p'inted straight fer de mornin' star, an' tell her fer ter
prepar'. Hit look mighty cu'us, Brer Remus."
"Cum down ter dat, Brer Ab," said Uncle Remus, wiping his
spectacles carefully, and readjusting them--"cum down ter dat,
an' dey ain't nuthin' dat ain't cu'us. I ain't no spishus nigger
myse'f, but I 'spizes fer ter year dogs a howlin' an' squinch-
owls havin' de agur out in de woods, an' w'en a bull goes a
bellerin' by de house den my bones git col' an' my flesh
commences fer ter creep; but w'en it comes ter deze yer sines in
de a'r an' deze yer sperrits in de woods, den I'm out--den I'm
done. I is, fer a fack. I bin livin' yer more'n seventy year, an'
I year talk er niggers seein' ghos'es all times er night an' all
times er day, but I ain't never seed none yit; an' deze yer flags
an' Jacob's lathers, I ain't seed dem, nudder."
"Dey er dar, Brer Remus."
"Hit's des like I tell you, Brer Ab. I ain't 'sputin' 'bout it,
but I ain't seed um, an' I don't take no chances deze days on dat
w'at I don't see, an' dat w'at I sees I got ter 'zamine mighty
close. Lemme tell you dis, Brer Ab: don't you let deze sines
onsettle you. W'en old man Gabrile toot his ho'n, he ain't
gwineter hang no sine out in de winder-panes, an when ole Fadder
Jacob lets down dat lather er his'n you'll be mighty ap' fer ter
hear de racket. An' don't you bodder wid jedgment-day. Jedgment-
day is lierbul fer ter take keer un itse'f."
"Dat's so, Brer Remus."
"Hit's bleedzed ter be so, Brer Ab. Hit don't bodder me. Hit's
done got so now dat w'en I gotter pone er bread, an' a rasher er
bacon, an' nuff grease fer ter make gravy, I ain't keerin' much
w'edder fokes sees ghos'es er no."
XIV. THAT DECEITFUL JUG
UNCLE REMUS was in good humor one evening recently when
he dropped casually into the editorial room of "The
Constitution," as has been his custom for the past year or two.
He had a bag slung across his shoulder, and in the bag was a jug.
The presence of this humble but useful vessel in Uncle Remus's
bag was made the occasion for several suggestive jokes at his
expense by the members of the staff, but the old man's good humor
was proof against all insinuations.
"Dat ar jug's bin ter wah, mon. Hit's wunner deze yer ole timers.
I got dat jug down dar in Putmon County w'en Mars 'Lisha Ferryman
wuz a young man, an' now he's done growed up, an' got ole an'
died, an' his chilluns is growed up an' dey kin count dere
gran'chilluns, an' yit dar's dat jug des ez lively an' ez lierbul
fer ter kick up devilment ez w'at she wuz w'en she come fum de
foundry."
"That's the trouble," said one of the young men. "That's the
reason we'd like to know what's in it now.
"Now you er gittin' on ma'shy groun'," replied Uncle Remus.
"Dat's de p'int. Dat's w'at make me say w'at I duz. I bin knowin'
dat jug now gwine on sixty-fi' year, an' de jug w'at's more
seetful dan dat jug ain't on de topside er de worrul. Dar she
sets," continued the old man, gazing at it reflectively, "dar she
sets dez ez natchul ez er ambertype, an' yit whar's de man w'at
kin tell w'at kinder confab she's a gwineter carry on w'en dat
corn-cob is snatched outen 'er mouf? Dat jug is mighty seetful,
mon."
"Well, it don't deceive any of us up here," remarked the
agricultural editor, dryly. "We've seen jugs before."
"I boun' you is, boss; I boun' you is. But you ain't seed no
seetful jug like dat. Dar she sets a bellyin' out an' lookin'
mighty fat an' full, an' yit she'd set dar a bellyin' out ef dere
wuzzent nuthin' but win' under dat stopper. You knows dat she
ain't got no aigs in her, ner no bacon, ner no grits, ner no
termartusses, ner no shellotes, an' dat's 'bout all you duz know.
Dog my cats ef de seetfulness er dat jug don't git away wid me,"
continued Uncle Remus, with a chuckle. "I wuz comm' 'cross de
bridge des now, an' Brer John Henry seed me wid de bag slung
onter my back, an' de jug in it, an' he ups an' sez, sezee:
"'Heyo, Brer Remus, ain't it gittin' late for watermillions?'
"Hit wuz de seetfulness er dat jug. If Brer John Henry know'd de
color er dat watermillion, I speck he'd snatch me up 'fo' de
confunce. I 'clar' ter grashus ef dat jug ain't a caution!"
"I suppose it's full of molasses now," remarked one of the young
men, sarcastically.
"Hear dat!" exclaimed Uncle Remus, triumphantly "hear dat! W'at
I tell you? I sed dat jug wuz seetful, an' I sticks to it. I bin
knowin' dat--"
"What has it got in it?" broke in some one; "molasses, kerosene,
or train-oil?"
"Well, I lay she's loaded, boss. I ain't shuk her up sence I
drapt in, but I lay she's loaded."
"Yes," said the agricultural editor, "and it's the meanest bug-
juice in town--regular sorghum skimmings."
"Dat's needer yer ner dar," responded Uncle Remus. "Po' fokes
better be fixin' up for Chris'mus now w'ile rashuns is cheap.
Dat's me. W'en I year Miss Sally gwine 'bout de house w'isslin'
'W'en I k'n read my titles cle'r--an' w'en I see de martins
swawmin' atter sundown--an' w'en I year de peckerwoods confabbin'
togedder dese moonshiny nights in my een er town--en I knows de
hot wedder's a breakin' up, an' I know it's 'bout time fer po'
fokes fer ter be rastlin' 'roun' and huntin' up dere rashuns.
Dat's me, up an down."
"Well, we are satisfied. Better go and hire a hall," remarked the
sporting editor, with a yawn. "If you are engaged in a talking
match you have won the money. Blanket him somebody, and take
him to the stable."
"An' w'at's mo'," continued the old man, scorning to notice the
insinuation, "dough I year Miss Sally w'isslin', an' de
peckerwoods a chatterin', I ain't seein' none er deze yer loafin'
niggers fixin' up fer ter 'migrate. Dey kin holler Kansas all
'roun' de naberhood, but ceppin' a man come 'long an' spell it
wid greenbacks, he don't ketch none er deze yer town niggers. You
year me, dey ain't gwine."
"Stand him up on the table," said the Sporting editor; "give him
room."
"Better go down yer ter de calaboose, an' git some news fer ter
print," said Uncle Remus, with a touch of irony in his tone.
"Some new nigger mighter broke inter jail."
"You say the darkeys are not going to emigrate this year?"
inquired the agricultural editor, who is interested in these
things.
"Shoo! dat dey ain't! I done seed an' I knows."
"Well, how do you know?"
"How you tell w'en crow gwineter light? Niggers bin prom'nadin'
by my house all dis summer, holdin' dere heads high up an' de
w'ites er dere eyeballs shinin' in de sun. Dey wuz too bigitty
fer ter look over de gyardin' palm's. 'Long 'bout den de wedder
wuz fetchin' de nat'al sperrits er turkentime outen de pine-trees
an' de groun' wuz fa'rly smokin' wid de hotness. Now that it's
gittin' sorter airish in de mornin's, dey don't 'pear like de
same niggers. Dey done got so dey'll look over in de yard, an'
nex' news you know dey'll be tryin' fer ter scrape up 'quaintence
wid de dog. W'en dey passes now dey looks at de chicken-coop an'
at der tater-patch. W'en you see niggers gittin' dat familious,
you kin 'pen' on dere campin' wid you de ballunce er de season.
Day 'fo' yistiddy I kotch one un um lookin' over de fence at my
shoats, an' I sez, sez I:
"'Duz you wanter purchis dem hogs?'
"'Oh, no,' sezee, 'I wuz des lookin' at dere p'ints.'
"'Well, dey ain't p'intin' yo' way, sez I, 'an', fuddermo', ef
you don't bodder longer dem hogs dey ain't gwineter clime outer
dat pen an' 'tack you, nudder,'" sez I.
"An' I boun'," continued Uncle Remus, driving the corn-cob
stopper a little tighter in his deceitful jug and gathering up
his bag--"an' I boun' dat my ole muskit 'll go off 'tween me an'
dat same nigger yit, an' he'll be at de bad een', an' dis seetful
jug'll 'fuse ter go ter de funer'l."
XV. THE FLORIDA WATERMELON
"LOOK yer, boy," said Uncle Remus yesterday, Stopping near the
railroad crossing on Whitehall Street, and gazing ferociously at
a small colored youth; "look yer, boy, Ill lay you out flat ef
you come flingin' yo' watermillion rimes under my foot--you watch
ef I don't. You k'n play yo' pranks on deze yer w'ite fokes, but
w'en you come a cuttin' up yo' capers roun me you 'll lan' right
in de middle uv er spell er sickness--now you mine w'at I tell
you. An' I ain't gwine fer ter put up wid none er yo' sassness
nudder--let 'lone flingin' watermillion rimes whar I kin git
mixt up wid um. I done had nuff watermillions yistiddy an' de day
befo'."
"How was that, Uncle Remus?" asked a gentleman standing near.
"Hit wuz sorter like dis, boss. Las' Chuseday, Mars John he fotch
home two er deze yer Flurridy watermillions, an him an' Miss
Sally sot down fer ter eat um. Mars John an' Miss Sally ain't got
nuthin' dat's too good fer me, an' de fus news I know'd Miss
Sally wuz a hollerin' fer Remus. I done smelt de watermillion on
de a'r, an' I ain't got no better sense dan fer ter go w'en I
years w'ite fokes a-hollerin'--I larnt dat w'en I wa'n't so high.
Leas'ways I galloped up ter de back po'ch, an' dar sot de
watermillions dez ez natchul ez ef dey'd er bin raised on de ole
Spivey place in Putmon County. Den Miss Sally, she cut me off er
slishe--wunner deze yer ongodly slishes, big ez yo' hat, an' I
sot down on de steps an' wrop myse'f roun' de whole blessid
chunk, 'cep'in' de rime." Uncle Remus paused and laid his hand
upon his stomach as if feeling for something.
"Well, old man, what then?"
"Dat's w'at I'm a gittin' at, boss," said Uncle Remus, smiling a
feeble smile. "I santered roun' 'bout er half nour, an den I
begin fer ter feel sorter squeemish--sorter like I done bin an,
swoller'd 'bout fo' poun's off'n de ruff een' uv er scantlin'.
Look like ter me dat I wuz gwineter be sick, an' den hit look
like I wuzzent. Bimeby a little pain showed 'is head an' sorter
m'andered roun' like he wuz a lookin' fer a good place fer ter
ketch holt, an' den a great big pain jump up an' take atter de
little one an' chase 'im 'roun' an' 'roun,' an' he mus' er kotch
'im, kaze bimeby de big pain retch down an' grab dis yer lef'
leg--so--an' haul 'im up, an' den he retch down an grab de udder
one an' pull him up, an' den de wah begun, sho nuff. Fer mighty
nigh fo' hours dey kep' up dat racket, an' des ez soon ez a
little pain 'ud jump up de big un 'ud light onter it an' gobble
it up, an' den de big un 'ud go sailin' roun' huntin' fer mo'.
Some fokes is mighty cu'us, dough. Nex' mornin' I hear Miss Sally
a laughin', an' singin' an' a w'isslin' des like dey want no
watermillions raise in Flurridy. But somebody better pen dis yer
nigger boy up w'en I'm on de town--I kin tell you dat."
XVI. UNCLE REMUS PREACHES TO A CONVERT
"DEY tells me you done jine de chu'ch," said Uncle Remus to
Pegleg Charley.
"Yes, sir," responded Charley, gravely, "dat's so."
"Well, I'm mighty glad er dat," remarked Uncle Remus, with
unction. "It's 'bout time dat I wuz spectin' fer ter hear un you
in de chain-gang, an', stidder dat, hit's de chu'ch. Well, dey
ain't no tellin' deze days whar a nigger's gwineter lan'."
"Yes," responded Charley, straightening himself up and speaking
in a dignified tone, "yes, I'm fixin' to do better. I'm preparin'
fer to shake worldliness. I'm done quit so'shatin' wid deze w'ite
town boys. Dey've been a goin' back on me too rapidly here
lately, an' now I'm a goin' back on dem."
"Well, ef you done had de speunce un it, I'm mighty glad. Ef you
got 'lijjun, you better hol' on to it 'twel de las' day in de
mornin'. Hit's mighty good fer ter kyar' 'roun' wid you in de day
time an' likewise in de night time. Hit'll pay you mo' dan
politics, an' ef you stan's up like you oughter, hit'll las'
longer dan a bone-fellum. But you wanter have one er deze yer
ole-time grips, an' you des gotter shet yo' eyes an' swing on
like wunner deze yer bull-tarrier dogs."
"Oh, I'm goin' to stick, Uncle Remus. You kin put your money on
dat. Deze town boys can't play no more uv dere games on me. I'm
fixed. Can't you lend me a dime, Uncle Remus, to buy me a pie?
I'm dat hongry dat my stomach is gittin' ready to go in mo'nin."
Uncle Remus eyed Charley curiously a moment, while the latter
looked quietly at his timber toe. Finally, the old man sighed and
spoke:
"How long is you bin in de chu'ch, son?"
"Mighty near a week," replied Charley.
"Well, lemme tell you dis, now, 'fo' you go enny fudder. You ain't
bin in dar long nuff fer ter go 'roun' takin' up conterbutions.
Wait ontwell you gits sorter seasoned like, an' den I'll hunt
'roun' in my cloze an' see ef I can't run out a thrip er two fer
you. But don't you levy taxes too early."
Charley laughed, and said he would let the old man off if he
would treat to a watermelon.
XVII. AS TO EDUCATION
As Uncle Remus came up Whitehall Street recently, he met a little
colored boy carrying a slate and a number of books. Some words
passed between them, but their exact purport will probably never
be known. They were unpleasant, for the attention of a wandering
policeman was called to the matter by hearing the old man bawl
out:
"Don't you come foolin' longer me, nigger. You er flippin' yo'
sass at de wrong color. You k'n go roun' yer an' sass deze w'ite
people, an' maybe dey'll stan' it, but w'en you come a-slingin'
yo' jaw at a man w'at wuz gray w'en de fahmin' days gin out, you
better go an' git yo' hide greased."
"What's the matter, old man?" asked a sympathizing policeman.
"Nothin', boss, 'ceppin I ain't gwineter hav' no nigger chillun a
hoopin' an' a hollerin' at me w'en I'm gwine long de streets."
"Oh, well, school-children--you know how they are.
"Dat's w'at make I say w'at I duz. Dey better be home pickin' up
chips. W'at a nigger gwineter larn outen books? I kin take a
bar'l stave an' fling mo' sense inter a nigger in one minnit dan
all de schoolhouses betwixt dis en de State er Midgigin. Don't
talk, honey! Wid one bar'l stave I kin fa'rly lif' de vail er
ignunce."
"Then you don't believe in education?"
"Hit's de ruinashun er dis country. Look at my gal. De ole 'oman
sont 'er ter school las' year, an' now we dassent hardly ax 'er
fer ter kyar de washin' home. She done got beyant 'er bizness. I
ain't larnt nuthin' in books, 'en yit I kin count all de money I
gits. No use talkin', boss. Put a spellin'-book in a nigger's
han's, en right den en dar' you loozes a plow-hand. I done had de
speunce un it."
XVIII. A TEMPERANCE REFORMER
"Yer come Uncle Remus," said a well-dressed negro, who was
standing on the sidewalk near James's bank recently, talking to a
crowd of barbers. "Yer come Uncle Remus. I boun' he'll sign it."
"You'll fling yo' money away ef you bet on it," responded Uncle
Remus. "I ain't turnin' nothin' loose on chu'ch 'scriptions. I
wants money right now fer ter git a pint er meal."
'Tain't dat."
"An' I ain't heppin fer ter berry nobody. Much's I kin do ter
keep de bref in my own body."
"'Tain't dat, nudder."
"An' I ain't puttin' my han' ter no reckommends. I'm fear'd fer
ter say a perlite wud 'bout myself, an' I des know I ain't gwine
'roun' flatter'n up deze udder niggers."
"An' 'tain't dat," responded the darkey, who held a paper in his
hand. "We er gittin' up a Good Tempeler's lodge, an' we like ter
git yo' name."
"Eh-eh, honey! I done see too much er dis nigger tempunce. Dey
stan' up mighty squar' ontwell dere dues commence ter cramp um,
an' dey don't stan' de racket wuf a durn. No longer'n yistiddy I
seed one er de head men er one er dese Tempeler's s'cieties
totin' water fer a bar-room. He had de water in a bucket, but dey
ain't no tellin' how much red licker he wuz a totin'. G'long,
chile--jine yo' s'ciety an' be good ter yo'se'f. I'm a gittin'
too ole. Gimme th'ee er fo' drams endurin' er de day, an' I'm
mighty nigh ez good a tempunce man ez de next un. I got ter
scuffle fer sump'n t'eat."
XIX. AS A WEATHER PROPHET
UNCLE REMUS was enlightening a crowd of negroes at the car-shed
yesterday.
"Dar ain't nuthin'," said the old man, shaking his head
pensively, "dat ain't got no change wrote on it. Dar ain't nothin
dat ain't spotted befo' hit begins fer ter commence. We all
speunces dat p'overdence w'at lifts us up fum one place an' sets
us down in de udder. Hit's continerly a movin' an a movin'."
"Dat's so!" "You er talkin' now!" came from several of his
hearers.
"I year Miss Sally readin' dis mawnin," continued the old man,
"dat a man wuz comin' down yer fer ter take keer er de wedder--
wunner deze yer Buro mens w'at goes 'roun' a puttin' up an'
pullin' down."
"W'at he gwine do 'roun' yer?" asked one.
"He's a gwineter regelate de wedder," replied Uncle Remus,
sententiously. "He's a gwineter fix hit up so dat dere won't be
so much worriment 'mong de w'ite fokes 'bout de kinder wedder
w'at falls to dere lot."
"He gwine dish em up," suggested one of the older ones, "like man
dish out sugar.
"No," answered Uncle Remus, mopping his benign features with a
very large and very red bandana. "He's a gwineter fix um better'n
dat. He's a gwineter fix um up so you kin have any kinder wedder
w'at you want widout totin' her home."
"How's dat?" asked some one.
"Hit's dis way," said the old man, thoughtfully. "In co'se you
knows w'at kinder wedder you wants. Well, den, w'en de man comes
long, w'ich Miss Sally say he will, you des gotter go up dar,
pick out yo' wedder an' dere'll be a clock sot fer ter suit yo'
case, an' w'en you git home, dere'll be yo' wedder a settin' out
in de yard waitin' fer you. I wish he wuz yer now," the old man
continued. "I'd take a pa'r er frosts in mine, ef I kotched cold
fer it. Dat's me!"
There were various exclamations of assent, and the old man went
on his way singing, "Don't you Grieve Atter Me."
XX. THE OLD MAN'S TROUBLES
"WHAT makes you look so lonesome, Brer Remus?" asked a well-
dressed negro, as the old man came shuffling down the street
by James's corner yesterday.
"You er mighty right, I'm lonesome, Brer John Henry. W'en a ole
nigger like me is gotter paddle de canoe an' do de fishin' at de
same time, an' w'en you bleedzd ter ketch de fish an' dassent
turn de paddle loose fer ter bait de hook, den I tell you, Brer
John, you er right whar de mink had de goslin'. Mars John and
Miss Sally, dey done bin gone down unto Putmon County fer ter see
der kinfolks mighty nigh fo' days, an' you better bleeve I done
bin had ter scratch 'roun' mighty lively fer ter make de rashuns
run out even.
"I wuz at yo' house las' night, Brer Remus," remarked Brer John
Henry, "but I couldn't roust you outer bed."
"Hit was de unseasonableness er de hour, I speck," said Uncle
Remus, dryly. "'Pears unto me dat you all chu'ch deacons settin'
up mighty late deze col' nights. You'll be slippin' round arter
hours some time er nudder, an you'll slip bodaciously inter de
calaboose. You mine w'at I tell you."
"It's mighty col' wedder," said Brer John Henry, evidently
wishing to change the subject.
"Col'!" exclaimed Uncle Remus; "hit got pas' col' on der quarter
stretch. You oughter come to my house night 'fo' las'. Den you'd
a foun' me 'live an' kickin'."
"How's dat?"
"Well, I tell you, Brer John Henry, de col' wuz so col', an' de
kiver wuz so light, dat I thunk I'd make a raid on Mars John's
shingle pile, an' out I goes an totes in a whole armful. Den I
gits under de kiver an' tells my ole 'oman fer ter lay 'em onto
me like she was roofin' a house. Bimeby she crawls in, an' de
shingles w'at she put on her side fer ter kiver wid, dey all drap
off on de flo'. Den up I gits an' piles 'em on agin, an' w'en I
gits in bed my shingles draps off, an' dat's de way it wuz de
whole blessid night. Fus' it wuz me up an' den de ole 'oman, an'
it kep' us pow'ful warm, too, dat kinder exercise. Oh, you
oughter drapt roun' 'bout dat time, Brer John Henry. You'd a
year'd sho' nuff cussin'!"
"You don't tell me, Brer Remus!"
"My ole 'oman say de Ole Boy wouldn't a foun' a riper nigger, ef
he wer' ter scour de country fum Ferginny ter de Alabam'"
XXI. THE FOURTH OF JULY
UNCLE REMUS made his appearance recently with his right arm in a
sling and his head bandaged to that extent that it looked like
the stick made to accompany the Centennial bass-drum. The old
man evidently expected an attack all around, for he was unusually
quiet, and fumbled in his pockets in an embarrassed manner. He
was not mistaken. The agricultural editor was the first to open
fire:
"Well, you old villain! what have you been up to now?"
"It is really singular," remarked a commencement orator, "that
not even an ordinary holiday--a holiday, it seems to me, that
ought to arouse all the latent instincts of patriotism in the
bosom of American citizens--can occur without embroiling some of
our most valuable citizens. It is really singular to me that such
a day should be devoted by a certain class of our population to
broils and fisticuffs."
This final moral sentiment, which was altogether an impromptu
utterance, and which was delivered with the air of one who
addresses a vast but invisible audience of young ladies in white
dresses and blue sashes, seemed to add to the embarrassment of
Uncle Remus, and at the same time to make an explanation
necessary.
"Dey ain't none er you young w'ite men never had no 'casion fer
ter strike up wid one er deze Mobile niggers?" asked Uncle Remus.
"'Kaze ef you iz, den you knows wharbouts de devilment come in.
Show me a Mobile nigger," continued the old man, an I'll show
you a nigger dat's marked for de chain-gang. Hit may be de fote
er de fif' er July, er hit may be de twelf' er Jinawerry, but
w'en a Mobile nigger gits in my naberhood right den an' dar
trubble sails in an' 'gages bode fer de season. I speck I'm ez
fon' er deze Nunited States ez de nex' man w'at knows dat de Buro
is busted up; but long ez Remus kin stan' on his hin' legs no
Mobile nigger can't flip inter dis town longer no Wes' P'int
'schushun an' boss 'roun' 'mong de cullud fokes. Dat's me, up an'
down, an' I boun' dere's a nigger some'rs on de road dis blessid
day dat's got dis put away in his 'membunce."
"How did he happen to get you down and maul you in this
startling manner?" asked the commencement orator, with a tone
of exaggerated sympathy in his voice.
"Maul who?" exclaimed Uncle Remus, indignantly. "Maul who? Boss,
de nigger dat mauled me ain't bo'nded yit, an' dey er got ter
have anudder war 'fo one is bo'nded."
"Well, what was the trouble?"
"Hit wuz sorter dis way, boss. I wuz stannin' down dere by Mars
John Jeems's bank, chattin' wid Sis Tempy, w'ich I ain't seed 'er
befo' now gwine on seven year, an' watchin' de folks trompin' by,
w'en one er deze yer slick-lookin' niggers, wid a bee-gum hat an'
a brass watch ez big ez de head uv a beerbar'l, come long an'
bresh up agin me--so. Dere wuz two un um, an' dey went long
gigglin' an' laffin' like a nes'ful er yaller-hammers. Bimeby dey
come long agin an' de smart Ellick brush up by me once mo'. Den I
say to myse'f, 'I lay I fetch you ef you gimme anudder invite.'
An', sho' 'nuff, yer he come agin, an' dis time he rub a piece er
watermillion rime under my lef' year."
"What did you do?"
"Me? I'm a mighty long-sufferin' nigger, but he hadn't no mo'n
totch me 'fo' I flung dese yer bones in his face." Here Uncle
Remus held up his damaged hand triumphantly. "I sorter sprained
my han', boss, but dog my cats if I don't bleeve I spattered de
nigger's eyeballs on de groun', and w'en he riz his count'nence
look fresh like beef-haslett. I look mighty spindlin' an' puny
now, don't I, boss?" inquired the old man, with great apparent
earnestness.
"Rather."
"Well, you des oughter see me git my Affikin up. Dey useter call
me er bad nigger long 'fo' de war, an hit looks like ter me dat I
gits wuss an' wuss. Brer John Henry say dat I oughter subdue my
rashfulness, an' I don't 'spute it, but tu'n a Mobile nigger
loose in dis town, fote er July or no fote er July, an', me er
him, one is got ter lan' in jail. Hit's proned inter me."
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, UNCLE REMUS ***
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